


something to bind my hands

by spikeymarshmallows



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Alexander Pierce - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Gaslighting, George Barnes - Freeform, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Masochism, More fluff than you'd expect, Mutual Pining, Nick Fury - Freeform, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Original Character(s), Rape Recovery, Seriously there is a happy ending, Shibari, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, TOS can't get me here!, Topdrop, Trauma, Winifred Barnes - Freeform, brock rumlow - Freeform, more tags in the authors note...., thinly veiled references to Fetlife and its BS, why is there no tag for Topdrop?, written by someone who both ties and is tied a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 91,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeymarshmallows/pseuds/spikeymarshmallows
Summary: Best friends since childhood, Steve and Bucky had danced around their feelings for years. Steve had finally decided it was time to tell him. But then Bucky disappeared.It's been four years when an explicit video online reveals Bucky in a position Steve would never have anticipated. Now he's faced with a very different Bucky to the one he remembered, and very few ideas on how to fix things. But this isBucky, and Steve would do anything to help him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



> This fic has… many acknowledgements. Thank you to sassbandit for the original concept - which I have no doubt have bastardised beyond recognition. Thank you also to my incredible cheerleader and alpha reader, emptydistractions, magical and ever patient beta, ladra, and plot-hole-picker, eyres. Thank you to gyroscope, gracelesso, hansbekhart, shinelikethunder, HC, my sprinting pals… all of which have been very helpful in some way, even if they don't necessarily remember it! Also, much love to the SAUBB mods, my lovely artists and… JFC, have I left out anyone? Honestly, there are an absolutely insane but incredible amount of people who have helped in some way with this fic. Thank you <3 This fic is my baby and something I'm so proud of.
> 
> Please note: this story includes more potential triggers than the tags give because they're not Major Plot Elements but should definitely be warned about. These are:  
> Not super explicit onscreen rape, but HTP (and its associated stuff, including sexual assault) described in Ch 2 (on ao3)/Ch 1 (of fic). Wetting self (same chapter). Vomit (same chapter). Pretty dark and messed up thoughts as a result of abuse. Gaslighting. Cockcages. Dehumanisation. Human trafficking. And essentially the trauma related to all of the above. Facing your abuser and rapist features in two chapters, but I will warn for those. There is some dubious, or even lack entirely thereof, consent but... I hope it makes sense in context. There is no Evil Steve here. A character that fucks up, yes. But not Evil Steve as he is always trying to do his best by Bucky. There are some dark moments but this is not a "darkfic". 
> 
> If you have any questions about tags, etc, please get in touch. 
> 
> I will be posting a chapter or two day until my posting date :D 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! :D

Steve floated. 

The world felt far away, like nothing was quite real. Everything sounded like it was coming through glass, but he wasn't trying to hear anything anyway. He'd never been here before. He'd never been so solely focused on anything before, had never felt so desperate to protect something and keep it safe.

Everything was narrowed down to the man in his lap. He looked so peaceful, eyes closed, mouth a little smile. He finger-combed brown curls matted with sweat, easing them off Bucky's face. Bucky's face wrinkled and he buried his face further into Steve's thigh. Steve laughed to himself and kept a hand in Bucky's hair. His other hand ran down his back and traced the deep rope marks on the back of Bucky's arms. They looked good, evenly spaced and spread. The marks followed his bare legs down but even with Bucky curled into a ball, Steve couldn't trace them further. 

In the warm red light around them he couldn't see the redness on his legs and back, but he knew they were there. He could feel the heat coming off his skin and given some of the purple he could make out, he knew the bruises would be stunning. 

His heart felt full, like it was about to burst out of his chest. There was a weird feeling was in his throat, like he was about to burst into giddy laughter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of his hands hurting, his shoulders feeling sore and used. His shirt was damp from cooling sweat.

None of that mattered. 

Nothing mattered right then but the surge of endorphins, Bucky resting in his lap, occasionally rubbing his face against Steve's slacks. The first few times he tried to sit up he pouted, eyes heavy, and Steve eased him back down, soothing him. 

"There's no rush," Steve told him softly, leaning down to press an absent kiss to his temple. It felt right, so right to do it, and Bucky didn't seem to mind because Steve heard him hum and saw him smile sleepily. 

Had Bucky felt it too? Was Bucky feeling this too? There was no way that this was all in Steve's head, surely. 

Eventually, Bucky's sleepy eyes opened and he blinked at Steve a few times. He brushed his hair off his face clumsily, not quite looking at Steve. Steve's hands hovered over him, nervous that he might fall or lose his balance. 

"That was…" Bucky's voice sounded wrecked, the sound going straight to Steve's cock. It brought Steve right back to the sounds Bucky had made for him in his rope, under his hands. He blinked rapidly a few times to bring himself back to the present; he could reminisce on those sounds later. Despite the softness of the moment Steve was still slightly hard; it felt weirdly inappropriate. Thank god his shirt hid that. 

"That was…" Bucky tried again, his voice a little more him. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Steve agreed breathlessly, hand stroking down Bucky's cheek. Bucky's eyelashes fluttered and he looked short of breath again, lips parting. Steve thumbed his lower lip, unable to drag his eyes from Bucky's. The moment stretched out, and the world around them became entirely non-existent. Bucky was still so close, his face inches from Steve's. All he had to do was lean forward… 

Bucky shivered, and Steve jolted out of his reverie. Bucky was still in nothing but his tight black trunks; he had to be cold. Steve cursed himself and groped around for the blanket he kept in his kit. Stupid! How could he have forgotten the blanket? Admittedly, he hadn't known that Bucky got cold after play… But he should have asked. 

Steve handed the fluffy blanket over awkwardly. "Sorry," he mumbled. Bucky accepted it with a shy smile; Steve couldn't recall a time in the last fifteen years that he'd seen Bucky looking shy. It was endearing though, in ways he didn’t expect. Bucky wrapped himself up in the blanket, and finally looked back up at Steve through his eyelashes. 

"Thank you," Bucky said, voice so soft that Steve almost didn't hear him over the noise of the club. He cleared his throat. "You've… gotten really good at that."

Steve grinned, cheeks coloring. He'd been going to classes every week for the last six months, and tried to practice most days, even when he couldn't get a real life model. He even had a mannequin he called Maria, just to practice his knots. He wasn't quite ready for a full suspension yet, but his instructor assured him he was close. 

"Was it okay?" Steve asked earnestly, biting the inside of his mouth. "Didn't… go too hard?"

Bucky shook his head emphatically. "No. No. You could have gone harder."

"Well, it was our first time. I didn't want to hurt you."

"Really? The clamp on my tongue sure fucking said otherwise," Bucky teased. 

Steve was grateful for the red lights suddenly, knowing that Bucky wouldn't be able to see his blush. That had been a stroke of genius really. Bucky had drooled everywhere  _ and _ whimpered so prettily _ and _ had tried to hide his face in shame. It was the trifecta, really. Steve's cock twitched again at the thought. 

"I didn't want to hurt you  _ too _ much. You might not let me do it again otherwise." 

Bucky’s grin was goofy. "We can definitely do that again." He paused and then added, "If you want to, of course."

Steve had to look away, unable to meet his eyes again lest the feelings in his chest burst free. "Yeah… Definitely want to…" He busied himself with hanking his ropes, untangling the giant mess of jute he'd left on the ground beside him. He wanted to kiss that grin off Bucky's face, wanted to bury his hands in Bucky's hair and  _ tug _ and make him make those little desperate sounds again. But that had to wait; Bucky was still flying high, even if he was back on earth finally. If Steve finally kissed Bucky, he wanted Bucky to be in his right mind. He suspected if he asked right now, Bucky would agree to giving Steve his left arm. 

Still tucked into the blanket, Bucky leant into Steve's side, resting his head on his shoulder as Steve straightened length after length of rope, running his fingers through it, checking for any imperfections. Finally, the mess sorted, he started packing them away in his bag, and sorting out the floggers and canes he'd used. He grinned at the little whippy quirt as he held it up for Bucky to see. 

"You seemed to like this one," he chuckled, brushing his fingers over some of the dark red marks on Bucky's thighs. He enjoyed the way Bucky's eyes narrowed and he contemplated whether he actually liked it or not. 

"Further testing required," Bucky said finally, a little smirk crossing his face.

"Happy to help," Steve chuckled, putting it away too. He surveyed their little corner of the club; everything was away except his ring and carabiners. He reluctantly pulled away from Bucky and unclipped them, remembering with a smirk the partial suspension he'd had Bucky strung up in. When he zipped his bags up, he noticed Bucky was getting dressed again. Steve had seen Bucky in so little clothing more times than he could count in his life, but this time he couldn't stop staring. He'd put those marks on Bucky; he'd made Bucky's knees shake like that. He'd made Bucky  _ glow _ . Another rush of power, and arousal, pulsed through him. 

He sat down beside Bucky, pulling his own socks and boots back on, trying to tamp down on the disappointment at Bucky's body disappearing under his clothing. Bucky ran his fingers through his disastrous hair, looking a little uncomfortable for a moment. He folded the blanket back and passed it to Steve. 

"Thank you," Bucky whispered, staring resolutely at the ground. 

Steve reached out a hand to touch Bucky's shoulder. The easy affection that had existed minutes before was gone now that the clothes were back on, the toys were away. Bucky had always been the touchy one, the one who threw his arm around Steve, to lean into him wherever they sat; Steve wasn't naturally good at physical contact. But Bucky looked nervous and Steve needed to make sure he understood how okay it was. He pulled Bucky into a hug. Bucky stiffened momentarily before hooking his chin over Steve's shoulder and hugging back, relaxing again. 

"Thank you," Steve insisted. "Seriously. That was…"

"Yeah," Bucky sighed happily. Too quickly, he withdrew. "I think I'm gonna head off. I'm wrecked, and I want to eat my weight in kebabs." 

Steve snorted. "Sure. You okay to get home?" He'd agreed to another scene after Bucky's. He didn't really want to, wanted to process what he'd just experienced, but the girl was sweet and she'd asked him so nicely. Otherwise, he would have insisted in making sure Bucky got home safe, or at least joining him for kebabs. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No, ya punk, I've  _ never _ caught the the C train home alone after midnight in my life."

"Hey, no need for sarcasm! You could still be loopy." 

Bucky folded his arms across his chest, expression wry. "Steve, we've both lived here our whole lives. I'll be fine."

"I know," Steve huffed. "Just… text me that you're home safe, okay?"

"Yes Ma," Bucky smirked. "Do you need me to let you know if my honour is still intact too?"

"Oh, you haven't had that in years."

Bucky laughed, letting his arms fall as he yawned widely. "Yep, kebab time." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Steve's waist again in a hug so tight that it was hard to breathe. "Thank you," he said again, before pulling away and walking off. Steve didn't even stop himself from looking at the way Bucky's ass looked in those black jeans, disappointed when his familiar strut disappeared into the crowd. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur, a nice scene with a girl, and watching Natasha do mean things to Clint. When he checked his phone after his scene, he had nothing but a picture message from Bucky in his bedroom, showing him some of the bruises along his legs and rope marks on his chest and arms. They looked better in the stark light of Bucky's bedroom, his pale olive skin making the reds and purples more vibrant. Steve wanted to  _ bite _ those marks, wanted to make Bucky whimper and kick out again, and see more color bloom. And was it just him, or was Bucky posing a little? Bucky had sent him pictures of his marks from scenes before, but something about these were special because  _ Steve _ had caused those marks. 

It stoked the fire in his stomach, made his heart beat a little faster. Steve had never experienced anything like it. And god, how could he have been so stupid? He and Bucky had been friends for so long that the idea of going  _ there _ with his best friend had seemed too dangerous. He'd spent years trying to deny his feelings; but they'd fit like a glove just then, in ways Steve hadn't even known he could fit. 

He'd talk to Bucky tomorrow. Steve wanted to do this again. And again. He wanted to kiss Bucky's pretty mouth swollen, and then to bite his lip in the same way Bucky did whenever he was nervous. He wanted… He wanted more. It was terrifying, but Steve… Steve had to. He'd wanted this for years, had convinced himself that Bucky couldn't possibly feel the same. But what they'd just shared had been so intense, so electric, that it couldn't all be in his head. Could it? 

He'd talk to Bucky tomorrow. Even if Bucky didn't feel the same way, he wouldn't throw away their friendship. Right?

For now, he had enough jerk-off material to get him through at least a month, and enough warmth in his chest to get him through his darkest days. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of warning, this chapter contains the most things to warn for and the most descriptions of non-con stuff. I'm putting them here as some of them may not be things folks are expecting... 
> 
> Warnings for: non-con described, HTP stuff described, vomit, wetting self, fucked up BDSM, torture, etc. I've tried not to go into too much detail... Self-punishment... Dehumanisation by Bucky towards himself...
> 
> This is also the longest chapter as well. :D I promise they're not all this lengthy!

**October**

Click. Click drag. Click. Save. Click click. Click.

Steve sighed and let his eyes flick to the clock in the corner of his screen. Only two minutes had passed since he'd last checked? Fuck. Today was  _ dragging _ . He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes before replacing his reading glasses. Were his eyes square yet? They were certainly dry as fuck. 

It wasn't exactly the busiest at work at the moment. He should have been grateful; just a few weeks before he'd been all but living at the office and had had more projects than he cared to think about. But his part of the process had been signed off on, and things were promising to be quieter for a few weeks. 

Working for Stark Industries wasn't exactly what Steve had planned when he'd gone to design school, but it had one of the most competitive salaries in the city, and by some miracle Tony had decided he liked Steve in his second year there. He'd come through the office either manic or drunk, or so Steve had thought, when they'd first met. But over the years Steve had learned that that was Just Tony. He'd liked one of Steve's designs, had pointed at it and shouted "Give this man a raise! And a promotion!", earning Steve a number of glares. 

It hadn't been the easiest ride for Steve, given that half the office hated him for it, but Steve had worked his ass off to prove that he was worth the extra zero at the end of his paycheck. And it had been rewarded several times over. 

But today? Fuck, Steve would give anything for a distraction. 

He was yanked from his staring contest with the clock by a small redhead knocking on his cubicle. He jumped, and did a double-take.

"Natasha! What are you doing here? How did you get in?" he asked, tugging his headphones out of his ears. Usually she called ahead, and he had to be called down to see her. Visitors weren't allowed on his floor, ever! 

"C'mon," she said, holding up a visitor’s pass in answer to his question, cocking her head towards the elevators and indicating he ought to follow. And then she walked off, her short legs carrying her surprisingly quickly. 

"Hi Steve, it's nice to see you. How are you? Yeah, I just thought I'd pop in. Can you spare a minute? Let's get lunch," Steve huffed, scrambling to grab his suit jacket and coat from the cupboard beside his cubicle and running after her. 

She didn't give him one of her trademark sly grins, her expression oddly serious. Steve frowned, concern biting into his gut. 

"Lunch," she said softly as they waited for the elevators.

"You couldn't have called?" he snipped. 

"Didn't have time."

They grabbed lunch on the third floor because that had a weird indoor garden that she seemed to like. 

He'd only just sat down when she passed over a phone, headphones attached. He frowned and turned it on its side, putting one earbud in. She started the video, her expression blank but for the tight line of her mouth. 

"What is…?" He choked on his fries. "Natasha!" he hissed, cheeks flaming, turning the phone screen down. This was  _ porn!  _ At  _ work! _

"Watch it." Everything, from her eyes to her tone were serious. This didn't seem like a practical joke but one could never be sure with Natasha.

Clenching his jaw and glancing around furtively, he slowly turned the phone around again, shielding the screen from view with his hand. The third floor was mostly empty, it still being too early for the lunchtime rush. 

The video was partially through, and Steve watched it with cautious interest. Natasha had sent him more porn than he cared to think about (had she no boundaries?!), but she'd never shown up at work with a video and an expression that could kill. 

There was a naked man on the ground, his dark hair long and hiding most of his face, and what little that could be seen on the lower half was what looked to be some kind of leather mask, practically a muzzle. He was shaking so violently that it was obvious even on the tiny screen. 

The camera angle was positioned in such a way that the face of the man in heavy black combat fatigues wasn't visible. But the man grabbed the submissive by the hair and threw him over some kind of bench. Slowly, shaking harder, he righted himself enough that the backs of his legs were visible. They were swollen and red, and on the tiny screen it was difficult to tell if he was bleeding or not. Black-fatigues lashed out with a whiplike black cane, striking over and over again without mercy. If there hadn't been blood before, there certainly was now. 

Steve liked impact play as much as the next kinkster, really. He had a nice collection of canes that he knew how to use relatively well. But this… this was unsettling. Maybe if the man seemed like he was enjoying it, Steve could forgive it. But something felt so very wrong to him, like this wasn't the beautiful videos he'd seen of submissives suffering for their Dominants. This felt like plain brutality. Jesus, was… Was that a police baton? Would that break bones? 

He wanted to rip the earbuds out. The sounds of the man’s cries were muffled by his face mask, but they were still heartbreakingly loud, and constant. That didn't sound like a person who was enjoying his beating. Steve was used to whimpers, and swearing, and sobs, and giggles. But he had seen nothing,  _ nothing _ like this, not even on the most extreme websites he'd come across. 

Eventually, the sounds eased. Black-fatigues didn't slow down at all, just kept going, as if to ensure he'd beaten all sound out of the man. When he seemed sure that that was the case, he walked around to the front of his face. The camera shifted, moving steadily towards them. Black-fatigues pulled out a hard cock, and reached behind the masked man’s lolling head. He seemed to be fumbling with something before the mask fell away. Then he yanked the other’s head back further, bringing his cock to the man’s mouth. 

In that brief moment, the submissive’s face became visible. Steve felt his eyes widen and his gut drop. He knew those eyes. He knew that goddamn face. 

It had been more than four years since he'd seen that face.

He dropped the phone and looked up at Natasha, desperate, praying that she'd tell him he was imagining things, that he was projecting his desire to see him. 

Her face was miserable, more expression than she usually granted. "It was uploaded this morning. Most of their videos contain a man with that black mask; I wouldn't have known it was him. This is the first time they've shown Winter's… Bucky’s face. They usually keep the videos anonymous."

Steve looked back at the video, watched Bucky's face get knocked around. The man  _ punched _ him in the face, withdrawing his cock from where he was fucking his throat without respite. Pale eyes filled with tears but then he composed himself again, still visibly trembling. What little light was in his eyes faded slowly, until he was glass-eyed, completely void of a person. Lights out, nobody home, just a body. The tears didn't stop as black-fatigues kept up a hard rhythm, but there was no fight in Bucky's body at all. 

Many of Steve's medical issues had faded as he'd grown older, but his asthma still flared up sometimes. He grasped in his suit jacket for his inhaler, but came up empty. He struggled to breathe, struggled to find air, and he became distantly aware that he wasn't having an asthma attack, but was on the verge of a panic attack instead. He tried to suck in deep breaths, stubbornly clinging to his air. 

"He…" Words failed him.

This was  _ Bucky. _

Steve exhaled shakily, finally having some semblance of control over his breathing again.

"We have to go find him," Steve said. "We haven't seen him in four years, and now he's in  _ this _ ?" He couldn't believe this, that this was something Bucky had wanted. The man in that video hadn't seemed like he was enjoying himself at all. 

"That group has been making videos with that guy for just under four years," Natasha pointed out. She grabbed her phone back and showed Steve another video, a man wearing the black half-mask again, his arms tied up over his head. But Steve recognized him instantly. The body was scrawnier than Bucky had ever been, his ribs showing. But Steve knew the tattoo on his side, had been there when Bucky had gotten it. If Steve had seen that tattoo, he would have known in an instant… 

The video was hard to watch too. 

Bucky's limp cock hung between his legs, and he had to watch as they began to press a large black dildo inside him. Bucky didn't fight it though, just stood breathing heavily. Somehow, that was even harder to handle, knowing that there was no resistance, no fight left in him.

"I mean…" Steve said, unable to drag his eyes away. "Am I being hasty? We haven't seen him in so long… Maybe this is the kind of stuff he likes and we just never knew about it… I mean, why would he be making porn if he didn't want to be in it?"

When he glanced up briefly, he saw Natasha's lips thinned. "I know this group. I know what they're capable of. They've been progressively banned from every club and event in the tri-state area. Sometimes they go to Nevada but that's because they're the only state that doesn't seem to have a problem with them, and that's  _ only _ because there's another similar group there. This group? HYDRA? They're bad news."

Steve turned his attention back to the screen, like a moth attracted to a blue buzzing light. "I mean… We could just talk to him. If this is what he wants, then where's the harm, right?" He sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "But he told us to never contact him again. Maybe this is exactly what he wants…?" He was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice despite his efforts. All these years later and it still fucking hurt. Almost fifteen years of friendship had ended in a single text message, a request to never be contacted again. Bucky had disappeared then, and Steve may not have been losing sleep over it daily anymore, but the dull ache remained. 

He kept watching the videos, one after another, horrified. Bucky didn't seem to be enjoying this at all. Not once did his body show any semblance that this was pleasurable, and not incredibly painful. Steve felt sick, like he was watching some torture that the news might play for shock value, not porn. 

Numbly he flicked to another video, morbid fascination controlling him. If he could just believe, even for a second, that Bucky was enjoying this maybe he could stomach it. Maybe.

Natasha wasn't saying anything, sitting there with an eerie stillness she possessed when most upset. She hadn't been friends with Bucky anywhere near as long as Steve but she had still cared deeply about him. It had to be distressing her to realize she'd been seeing Bucky for years and not known about it. 

It all turned his stomach. "I think we should at least try to talk to him," Steve said as he skipped through part of the video. His stomach churned and his lunch, already deeply unappealing, roiled in his stomach. Oh god, they'd hit him so much he was bleeding. "Like, he can just tell us to fuck off, right?" He had to see Bucky. He had to. He'd spent so much time missing him over the past few years… "You know where these creeps are, right?" He glanced up at her again. 

She nodded once. "Let's just say I've been keeping tabs on them for some time now." 

It had to be related to her work. Natasha said very little about her work, handwaving it with the word "classified" more often than not. Steve had learned not to ask, but every so often there was a hint or two. Knowing that she'd been keeping tabs on this group spoke volumes to him. 

"Great. Weekend?" He looked back at the phone and… "Wait. Is that a stun baton?!" He watched in horror as the video confirmed that yes indeed, that was a stun baton being shoved mercilessly into Bucky by black-fatigues again. Bucky was sobbing, chest heaving; when he finally eased in his sobs Steve heard the crackle of electricity. He watched Bucky convulse just once before he closed the video, sick to his stomach. "You got the car?"

"Of course. Me on public transport, Steve? Really?" 

His voice was cold and steady when he spoke: "Get in the fucking car. We're going now." 

*

 

The GPS said the drive to the mansion that apparently housed the group, HYDRA, was three hours, including Manhattan traffic. They made it in just over two.

Steve knew how to drive, but nobody drove quite like Natasha. It was an experience in exhilaration and terror at the same time. She ducked between cars, doubling the speed limit where she could, and somehow miraculously knew when cops were nearby, meandering back to the legal limit in those spots. 

Thank fuck for the lack of work at the moment; Steve had been able to text his boss and say he'd come down sick at lunch. Thank fuck for his usual dedication to his work that his boss didn't even question it, just told him to get well soon. Also, thank fuck for leaving in the middle of the day; he couldn't imagine how frustrated he would have been leaving during peak hour. As it was, the drive was horribly long and even though he knew by rights that nothing would change for Bucky between now and when they arrived, he couldn't help but feel like every second passing was another second Bucky might be in danger. 

The manor was a beautiful building, high on a hill with sprawling green fields stretching before it. There was a forest behind it, and large pine trees lined the lengthy driveway. It was picturesque and the blue, cloudless sky felt inappropriate. It should have looked foreboding, but instead it simply looked regal. 

"Let me handle this," Natasha said as they approached. They really hadn't said much on the drive, just that they were just "doing some recon." Steve had wondered on many occasions whether Natasha was secretly a spy, and today was not helping to disprove that theory. How much did spies earn? Did they all drive Camaros? 

Steve rolled his eyes at her and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, yeah, just recon. I heard you the first time." He wasn't usually so snippy with her but they were both on edge. There was a terrifying combination of feelings: he both wanted Bucky to be there, and didn't want him to be. Maybe this really was something Bucky had wanted, and they were being total dicks about it. But if this was something Bucky wanted, he could just say that, right?

Ugh! Steve never overthought like this. He was getting a headache. 

An older gentleman answered the door. He looked surprised to see them. "May I help you?"

"Master Pierce," Natasha said smoothly, all glib charm, a little smirk crossing her face. "I'm Natalie Rushman. We've met previously at  _ Bound _ ."

Pierce frowned a little, trying to place her face. Then recognition dawned. "Lady Rushman! Or the Black Widow, as you introduced yourself as that night. Have I got that correct? It was Black Widow, yes?"

"It is! I'm delighted you remember," she smiled. 

"A pleasure to see you again. How may I be of assistance?" 

"Well, you said if I ever wanted to hear more about HYDRA, I ought to pop by. My work had me in the neighbourhood and I thought I'd see if you were available. I do apologize for dropping in unannounced but I thought I'd take the opportunity. You told me last time that you're retired these days, so I hope I haven't caught you at a bad moment."

"Mostly retired," Pierce admitted, stepping aside to let them inside. "I primarily do consulting work these days. Please, come in. It's starting to get chilly out." He gave Steve a warm smile. "And who is this handsome gentleman?"

"This is one of my potential boys, Roger." 

"Hi," Steve said, reaching out to shake Pierce's hand. They both looked at him like he was an alien. Pierce took his hand but didn't shake it. 

"A fine specimen indeed," Piece said, dragging watery blue eyes up and down Steve's body in a way that made his skin crawl. Steve eased his hand out of the man's. 

"We'll see," she said with a wink. "He's quite new but when I mentioned HYDRA he seemed very interested."

"Very," Steve agreed, not really knowing what the hell HYDRA was. It had been the name of the website that had had the videos of Bucky, but he didn't know what that actually entailed. Natasha had been tight-lipped about what she knew too.

"Well, come, I was actually about to have some tea. You said you were out here for work; what is it that you do, Lady Rushman?"

Pierce took them to a tastefully decorated living room, filled with beautiful antiques that would cost more than Steve’s monthly salary. What little he'd seen of the house had been like something that belonged in a magazine or a period drama, and screamed luxury even in its age. As Pierce seated himself in a large armchair, Natasha sat across from him on a chesterfield, and indicated with her eyes that Steve should sit beside her.

"He's still very new," she explained to Pierce as she leaned comfortably back in the chair, folding her leather jacket over the arm of it. "So he still has furniture privileges." 

"Of course," Pierce chuckled before ringing a little silver bell beside him. It rang merrily, and several moments later a beautiful young woman entered the room. Her long blonde tresses hung down her back, and she wore a short satin black robe that just barely concealed the top of her thighs. She knelt quickly before Pierce, every move graceful. 

"Yes Master?"  

"We have some unexpected guests, my dear. Please go fetch another pot of tea, and perhaps some of those delicious cookies you baked earlier." 

"Yes Master."

She hurried out of the room, back straight, shoulders pushed back. She moved fluidly, like a dancer. Her ankles and wrists bore sleek gold rings, with no obvious opening nor closing mechanism. Steve had seen a few of those online, had admired them for what they were. 

"When we're done, I must give you a tour of the facilities," Pierce said, crossing his legs neatly in front of him. "I'm afraid many of the Masters and Mistresses are out currently. The manor is often empty during the week, but it certainly comes alive on weekends. Only Sir Rumlow, and two of our slaves, Summer and Winter are here. But they are truly fine examples of perfect slaves. Unfortunately, Winter has been misbehaving so you won't be able to see him." He gave them both a rueful smile that rubbed Steve the wrong way. 

"So, boy, tell me what you know about HYDRA." Pierce was staring at Steve again. 

"Uhh," Steve began, not really sure what to say. All he knew was what Natasha had told him in the car, and that she'd handle it. Shit! "I've seen your  _ Dark Side _ profile, mostly?" He referred to a social media site for everything BDSM, kink, and fetish. Steve wasn't on there often, but he did use his profile to post pictures occasionally, RSVP to events, and do some reading. It was great for that. It was no workshop, but it provided hundreds, thousands of articles about every aspect of kink, from every different perspective. He hoped to hell that this guy used it. 

"Ah, wonderful!" Pierce said, clapping his hands together and smiling. "But that profile barely scratches the surface of our long and rich history."

He stood again, walked over to one of the many bookshelves and eased a heavy red leather tome out, bringing it with him as he moved into the centre of the room before Natasha and Steve. "HYDRA… an acronym for Honesty, Youth, Discipline, Respect and Accountability… is a long-standing organization. We are so much more than a BDSM group; HYDRA is a way of life. This book here contains just a small part of our history. HYDRA is built on strong foundations of moral character, and perpetual personal development. But our way is not for many; it does not suit the faint of heart, or the weak of character. We live by strict rules, and don't accept anything less than perfection." 

The leather tome was passed to Natasha first, and Pierce went back to his chair. 

"We believe that BDSM is not just a hobby for the bedroom. Many taint BDSM by believing it to be something fun, and sexy." He did a little wiggle to mock the use of the word 'sexy', before his face dropped into a more serious one. "And they are entitled to that. But HYDRA members know that BDSM is so much more. We are True Masters and our slaves are True slaves." 

"Incredible," Natasha said, tone enthused. Had he not known her as well as he did he might not have noted the sarcasm; Pierce certainly didn't, as he smirked. "How can you tell who is True?"

Pierce crossed his legs, resting both hands on his top knee. "I'm glad you asked. Unfortunately it's hard to tell until someone engages in our training. It's rigorous, and intense, and contract-bound. The appendices in the book have some of our earlier contracts, which we've since had to adapt to suit modern times. Only the best make it through. But those that see the contract out are envied by many. Their skills as slaves and submissives, and Masters and Dominants…" He kissed his fingertips. "Of course, many fail, and that is also acceptable. But we tend not to take on those that have not proven themselves already and our failure rate is far lower than you'd expect." 

Natasha passed the tome to Steve, and his arm nearly wobbled with the weight of it. Natasha was deceptively strong and hadn't even flinched. 

He flicked through a few pages, seeing far too many capital letters for his taste. True this and True that. Ugh. He hated that kind of attitude. BDSM could be just for the bedroom, or a lifestyle, but this shit was solidly elitist and Steve regularly went out of his way to avoid those that believed in it. He dragged his eyes back to Pierce, his smile likely looking far thinner than Natasha's; Steve was not known for his acting abilities, that was for sure. 

The blonde from before returned with highly polished silverware and fine china. The way she moved continued to astound Steve, like that of a ballet dancer or gymnast. It was a little mesmerising to watch. Her features were delicate and pointed, caught in a permanent smirk. She was stunning. She went about setting the tea and cookies out, and demurely organized everything. She kept her eyes lowered as she served Steve and Natasha, but looked at Pierce in the face. He looked justly proud of her performance and once she'd laid everything out she knelt on the carpeted floor to his left, beside the chair. 

"Thank you, slave," Pierce told her once she'd settled. She said nothing, didn't even nod her head to accept it. She stared intently at the space in front of her, shoulders pushed back. Her posture was incredible. 

"We give all our slaves new names when they join us," Pierce continued amiably. "It removes them from their old lives and helps them adjust to their new ones. Summer here has been with us six years; Winter has been with us four years. She is our head slave, and a glowing example of what True Submission looks like." He reached over the edge of his armchair and stroked her blonde hair, before twisting it roughly. Her mouth fell open in a silent moan, but she didn't respond otherwise. "Look at the way she surrenders… Isn't it stunning…?" He released her again, stroked her mussed hair flat. "True submission is beautiful. It is more than skin-deep, but rather… soul-deep." His eyes flashed back to Steve. "Have you ever considered formal training? I'm unfamiliar with Lady Rushman's style, but I can assure you that what HYDRA offers is the best in the world."

Natasha gave a hum of disapproval. "He's not available for training with HYDRA, I'm afraid." 

Pierce gave her a look over the edge of his delicate china teacup. "Of course, Lady Rushman. I was merely asking if he had considered it."

Natasha gave another dangerous hum. Steve focused intently on his own teacup, so small and delicate in his large hands. The tension stretched in the room before Pierce gave a chortle. 

"Understood. Well, perhaps you'd like to train with HYDRA for a time. We take on both Masters and slaves here. Every Master becomes skilled in many areas; I've seen you use a bullwhip, and know that you would have much to offer the Masters here as well. We have countless play facilities, including three medical rooms. Every room here is soundproofed; you could murder a small child in the next room and I wouldn't be able to hear it." Pierce chuckled and sipped his tea.

Something about him grated on Steve. Everything about him seemed false, and arrogant in a way that someone in this lifestyle oughtn't be. Overconfidence only resulted in injuries, as Steve had learned a few years ago. He still thought of that nerve injury with a wince, even though Clint had been fine within a few days. 

"Excuse me, but where is your bathroom?" Steve asked politely, hoping he was using his manners appropriately. He didn't want to be here but he'd learned enough that if Bucky was here, Steve wanted him out of here. 

Pierce frowned at Steve and sighed heavily. "It's at the very end of the hall, on the left."

Steve nodded his thanks and headed towards the door. Just as he shut it behind him, he heard Pierce drawl: "Really, Lady Rushman, him? He seems to have very little potential…"

Steve followed the length of the hallway, not actually wanting the bathroom. Opposite the door on the end were some stairs leading down to what had to be the basement. Steve looked up the hallway, heard nothing, and decided to push his luck. He just… wanted to see… 

The basement was darker, and much cooler. Steve shivered involuntarily, his heart pounding with some unknown fear. Yellowed lights revealed a short hallway with four open doors. He passed the first two, making out a cellar in one and ignoring the second. The end room's light was on, and when Steve reached it, he was horrified to see a man curled up in the corner of a starkly lit cell.

The man was naked in the corner, a short steel chain securing him to the stone walls. The door may have been open but there was no way he was escaping. Long, dark hair fell over his face, but Steve knew who it was in an instant. He didn't need to see his face.

"Bucky," Steve breathed, rushing into the 16' x 16' room. The fluorescent light over them flickered. The stone walls and floor made it almost icy compared to the carpeted hallways. 

Bucky didn't seem to hear him, didn't look up until Steve reached him and sank to his knees beside him. Bucky's skin was freezing under his own cool hands, and only when Steve touched him did he look up. His eyes were glazed, almost blank. He blinked owlishly up at Steve. A thick steel collar rested around his neck, a heavy padlock linking the chain to the front. 

"Bucky?" Steve asked softly, one of his hands touching Bucky's gaunt face. 

"Master?" Bucky asked, words slurred. "Time's up already?"

Steve's stomach dropped. "Yeah, buddy."

"'M sorry, Master, I won't do it again. 'Ve learned m' lesson, Master." Bucky's eyes fluttered, and he fell forward into Steve's hold. He was so damn cold. Steve shrugged out of his suit jacket quickly and wrapped it around Bucky's naked shoulders, trying not to panic further at the blue in his fingers. He looked desperately around for a key, some way to get him out of there. He didn't care what Natasha's plan was, there was no way in hell they were leaving without Bucky. Steve would fight Pierce himself if he had to. 

His eyes landed on a key hanging just beside the empty door frame. No… It was too easy, right? But looking at the length of the chain securing Bucky, he wouldn't be able to reach the key in the small space anyway. It was probably some cruel extra layer to whatever they were doing. Putting the key right there in front of an open door, taunting him with freedom he couldn't have. 

He was both furious and sickened. 

Key in hand, he sank back beside Bucky, pulling him close so that his head sagged against his chest. His hair was wet, and soaked through Steve's thin business shirt. The knees in his slacks were wet too, he realized distantly. His hands shook violently and he fumbled with the lock around Bucky's neck several times before he managed to get it undone. The chain clattered to the floor. 

"It's okay, pal, we're gonna get you outta here," Steve said, holding Bucky as closely as he dared. He felt small and fragile in his arms. God, he was going to murder Pierce. There was no fucking way Bucky had agreed to this. This was  _ torture _ . He probably had hypothermia, from what Steve knew of it. 

Steve pulled Bucky to his feet, praying he was able to stay on them. Bucky stumbled for his first few steps but regained enough of his faculties to manage something resembling walking. Steve wrapped his arm around his waist, keeping him close. It only clicked for him halfway up the stairs that Bucky was naked but for his collar, Steve's suit jacket, some metal cuffs on each of his wrists and ankles, and a cock cage. Jesus. The gravel outside would be a nightmare. Steve was probably going to have to carry him out there. 

Single-minded determination controlled him, gave him no pause. He was going to get Bucky out of there, and nothing was going to stop him. 

They were halfway to the front door when Steve heard just ahead of him someone thumping down the stairs.

He didn't even stop to panic, just shifted his grip on Bucky and grabbed a heavy, expensive looking vase from one of the highly polished decorative tables in the hallway. A man entered the hallway and without thinking Steve swung it at the man's head. He could die for all Steve cared right then.

"Hey, what are you-!" the man managed to get out before there was a sickening thunk and he crumpled. Steve spared him a glance to check that he was definitely out cold before righting his hold on Bucky again. Steve realized at the last second what the man was wearing: black fatigues. Steve vehemently wished he'd hit the man harder now. 

"Wha?" Was all Bucky said. 

Miraculously, they didn't encounter anyone else between there and the front door. Bucky managed to make it down the front stairs, shivering all the while. Steve carried him the remaining distance to the car, and Bucky curled up sleepily into his neck, not seeming to realize the direness of the situation. 

Steve sat Bucky on the hood of the car, wrapping his arms over his shoulders as he fumbled to get his phone from his pocket. He'd been gone less than ten minutes, but definitely long enough that they were probably wondering where he was. 

Natasha answered her phone quickly. " _ Mom? _ "

"I found him, and I got him. I know you said not to, but I did, and 'Tasha, you gotta get out of there now," Steve got out quickly. 

" _ Mom, I need you to calm down. What happened with Pop? _ " She was trying to get him to explain a little better. 

Steve took a shaky breath. "Get out of there now. I have him, and he's bad. Also I may have knocked someone out in the front hall, and don't know how long he'll be out."

" _ Oh god _ ," she moaned. " _ Which hospital are they taking him to? I'll meet you there. _ "

"We're at the car."

" _ Okay Mom, just. Big breaths. Pop is gonna be okay, I promise. Love you. _ " The line went quiet. Steve pocketed his phone and returned his attention to Bucky. He wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders, trying to keep him warm. It was only early October but the day had been cool and Bucky was fucking naked and damp and sitting on a car. 

A minute later he heard the gentle sound of the car being unlocked and he scrambled into action. They couldn't know he had Bucky. He frantically opened the door, shaking hands slipping several times as he attempted to push the front seats forward and ease a floppy Bucky into the backseat. He climbed in behind him just as he heard Natasha run down the stairs. 

She all but flew into the front seat, starting it with such polished ease that there was no way she hadn't done this at least thirty times before. Steve was thrown around in the backseat against Bucky as she spun the Camaro quickly and jetted off down the driveway. 

"What the fuck was that, Rogers?!" she snapped, glaring at him through the rearview mirror. "I told you today was about recon only!"

Steve gripped the seat, trying to get his seatbelt on as she sped back onto the road. He finally managed, and met her glare with one of his own. "It was. I recon'd and then I found Bucky chained up in a cold cellar, and I changed the plan."

Natasha shook her head furiously at him. "You could have put everyone in serious danger. You don't know Pierce; he's bad news. You're just goddamn lucky I know how to handle myself. And how to run in stilettos." She was silent for a long minute, and Steve busied himself with adjusting Bucky's seatbelt, and bringing him in closer. He was starting to shiver violently, technically a good sign; he was warming up. 

Finally she broke the silence. "How is he?"

Steve grimaced. "Not good. He's freezing, and I don't have anything to warm him up. Can you turn the heat up?"

She did so silently, the roar of the fans drowning out the sound of the world outside. "I have some of Clint's clothes in the back. They might be a little short on him, but it's better than nothing." 

The sweatpants were too short on him, but otherwise were too big, particularly around the middle. Bucky was still barely there, just moving pliantly however Steve told him to. He kept calling him Master in a dazed tone, and apologizing, saying he'd never do it again. Steve didn't know what 'it' was, but he had a feeling that knowing would just make him demand that Natasha turn the car around so he could go back and knock at least eight teeth from Pierce's mouth. 

The drive home was even more silent than the drive up. Natasha didn't speak, but his eyes met hers several times as she glanced back in the rear-view mirror. Bucky either passed out or fell asleep; Steve desperately hoped it was the latter. At least he was warming up, slowly, tucked into Steve's sides. 

Finally, the adrenaline was allowed to fade from his body, only to be replaced by a blinding fury. He didn't know what had happened in that house, but he could take educated guesses, and none of them made him feel any better about the situation. What kind of sick fucker punished someone like this? No matter what Bucky had done, he couldn't think of anything that would make this worth it. 

It only now was sinking in that Bucky might have  _ died _ in there. Steve knew enough about hypothermia to know that Bucky had been on the verge of not coming back from it. As it was, he wasn't entirely convinced that Bucky didn't need a hospital, stat. 

“We’re not taking him to a hospital,” Natasha said when he voiced as much. “Pierce was on the board of at least half the hospitals in New York, and had a finger in more pies than we can count. We don’t know who is working with him, and Pierce will stop at nothing to get him back. If you’re really concerned, call Sam.”

Steve looked down at Bucky. He didn’t really want to call Sam either but if Bucky didn’t start to show signs of life soon, he was going to. Sam wasn’t Bucky’s biggest fan, but he wouldn’t be an asshole, not in a situation like this. Steve was just concerned. 

"He's going to be okay, Rogers," Natasha reassured him as they hit the Whitestone Bridge traffic, and Steve started to get antsy. He'd thought he'd been hiding it well but Natasha was unnaturally perceptive, and Steve was distracted. 

"I hope so…" he mumbled, bringing his arm tighter around Bucky. He was surprised he didn't hear ribs cracking. Bucky shifted slightly, rubbing his face against Steve's chest. He would be okay, if it was the last fucking thing Steve did. Actually, Steve was going to make sure Pierce paid for this if it was the last thing he did. 

They were stuck in traffic in goddamn Queens, barely twenty minutes from Steve's apartment, when Bucky started to come to. 

"Master?" he asked sleepily, voice small. The metal rings around his wrists jingled as he brought his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes. 

"Bucky?" Steve asked, giving him a desperate look.

"Who is Bucky, Master?" Bucky cocked his head, little lines appearing between his eyebrows as he looked at Steve in genuine confusion. His eyes were still glazed, but he didn't look on death’s door anymore. 

Steve's stomach dropped for the nth time that day. Had something happened to him? Had he lost his memories? 

"You're Bucky," Steve said shakily. He looked up at the mirror, meeting Natasha's eyes. He saw her raise an eyebrow, and he exhaled. "Do you remember me?"

Bucky frowned a little, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. "Of course I do, Master. You're Master," he said, but looked unsure of it. 

"I'm not," Steve started, but saw fear slip into Bucky's face. His lower lip trembled. It physically pained Steve to see him like that. "Hey, hey, you're okay. It's okay," Steve soothed, wanting to reach out and touch but scared it would upset Bucky further. He didn't know what those monsters had done to him. Steve didn't even know if he knew the man inside Bucky’s body anymore; maybe Bucky had lost his memories and this was something he wanted. Had they made a terrible mistake? 

Bucky nodded cautiously, eyes darting around anxiously. He didn't ask any questions though. 

They finally made it back to Steve's apartment, and Bucky looked out of the Camaro warily. He kept itching at his clothes, looking uncomfortable and unhappy. Steve didn't want to think about it. For a moment, Steve contemplated not carrying Bucky to the house, but then remembered: this was goddamn New York. There was no fucking way Bucky would ever walk barefoot on a Brooklyn street. Bucky looked perplexed at being carried from the car up the steps of the brownstone, but didn't ask any questions. That in itself was a sign of how far gone Bucky was. The Bucky Steve knew would have kicked up a fuss at being carried, and certainly would have asked questions about what was happening. He saw the questions in Bucky's expression, and that he didn't express them. Steve was terrified. 

"I have to go," Natasha said, expression tight once they had Bucky inside Steve's apartment. Her eyes ran up and down Bucky's body, and he saw the little muscle in her jaw twitch. 

"I'm… sorry I fucked up," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "But I couldn't just leave him like that."

"I know," Natasha said, looking as though it pained her to say. "I shouldn't have brought you. That was stupid of me. I got emotional, and stopped thinking rationally. But we have him now."

Steve and Natasha had very different ideas of what was 'emotional', but that had probably been the height of it. 

"I'll check in tomorrow. But for now, I think it's best it's just you near him. He probably thinks you're Pierce; you look like him, just much much younger."

Steve blanched, but nodded. "Tomorrow," he confirmed, wrapping his arm around Bucky's waist. He wasn't shivering anymore but he did look shaky and uncertain to be on his feet. He was too skinny. Steve was going to feed him right goddamn now.

Natasha stepped forward and hugged Bucky briefly, one of her small hands resting on his unshaven cheeks. Bucky looked at her with nothing but confusion, and Steve saw another crack in her usually flawless facade. That she wasn't able to hide it showed him just how bothered she really was. And then she was gone, her stilettos somehow silent even on his wooden floors. 

It was just the two of them now. 

The apartment was too silent, and the night was still too young. 

Thanks to his random promotion in his second year at Stark Industries he could actually afford his own floor-through one-bedroom-plus-a-study in Bed-Stuy. It wasn't the largest, nor was it in entirely the best part of town, but it was close to the A and C line, and he  _ didn't have to share _ . Steve would take cramped, and the occasional murder in the park at the end of the street, in exchange for privacy. 

He wasn't at the point that he was running the heating, but given the day and Bucky's situation, Steve went around and turned all the heaters on as high as possible. When he returned from his bedroom he saw that Bucky was still standing in the living room, exactly as Steve had left him. 

Steve swallowed. He didn't know what to do. But now wasn't the time to panic, or come apart at the seams. It wasn't the time to quiz Bucky on the last four years. This wasn't the Bucky he knew; he had to take a different approach. 

"Hey, I'm about to heat up some leftovers for dinner. Do you want some?" 

Bucky's eyes widened at the question, and darted around the room anxiously, as if the walls or his sofa might provide him with some answers. 

"It's vegetable lasagne. You'll like it," Steve said, expression feeling as tight as his chest.

Bucky looked concerned, sucked his lower lip. "I'd like that, Master," he said slowly, as if prepared to pull the words back at a moment’s notice. 

Steve nodded and went to the kitchen, portioning out large slices of lasagne for both of them. Bucky was too skinny, and even if he weren't Steve felt an insane need to feed him anyway. He'd been gone for so long, and Steve didn't know how to handle it. He was back… But he wasn't the same. Steve wasn't the same person he was four years ago either. 

He stared at the sink for the whole six minutes the lasagne took to heat, caught in his own thoughts, none of them productive. Instead, it all played on an endless loop, over and over and over. All he could imagine was those damn videos, and finding Bucky in that cell, and what if he hadn't found Bucky then? What else had he been subjected to over the years? Pierce had said Winter had been with them for four years… Had Bucky been enduring that for the entire time he’d been missing?

The insistent beeping of the microwave yanked him from his thoughts. He returned to the main room with the two plates, and found Bucky… Was he standing exactly as Steve had left him? Steve hadn't heard him moving, and he was still just in front of the couch. His arms were behind his back, shoulders pulled back tightly. 

It was a little unnerving. 

"Hey bud, I got food. You hungry?" Steve tried to go for casual, calm. Everything was fine. Bucky would be fine once he'd eaten. 

Bucky licked his chapped lips nervously. "Yes Master," he said slowly, eyes still darting around as if the walls or bookshelves or television might provide him with the correct answer. The word Master made his skin crawl, but he let it slide for now. 

"Great. C'mon, sit down and eat. I'll get us something to drink too." He put both plates on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen, cursing inwardly. Natasha had had some bottles of water beside the spare clothes in her trunk (as well as a surprisingly thorough first aid kit, some guns—the fuck??—snacks, and a bag of things he didn't even want to think about), and they'd encouraged Bucky to drink one of them. But he hadn't given Bucky any water since; stupid of him! 

He returned with two bottles of chilled water, and cocked his head when he saw Bucky kneeling on the floor beside the coffee table. He looked anxious, eyes wide, and ready to spring to his feet instantly. 

"What… Whatcha doing?" Steve asked hesitantly. 

Bucky leapt to his feet, breathing heavily. "You told me to sit," Bucky explained in a hurry, looking as if he was trying to stop himself from breathing too loudly. 

"I did. I didn't say to sit on the floor," Steve said slowly, cautiously. "It's okay. If you want to sit on the floor, you can sit on the floor. But you're welcome to sit on the couch too." Something was tickling at the back of his mind, but he wasn't able to quite put his finger on it. "C'mon, sit down. It's okay."

He sat down on the couch, and Bucky slowly sank down to sit on the floor again, all the while eyeing Steve cautiously. 

"Gee, I'm hungry!" Steve exclaimed. "And tired. How about we watch some TV while we eat, and then you can have a shower? You must be exhausted." He balanced the plate on his knees and leant forward to grab the remote, flicking through a few things on Netflix. Something light and humorous… He eventually settled on  _ Parks and Recreation _ , even though it wasn't his usual style of humor. It was definitely not traumatic.

He noticed Bucky wasn't eating, just sitting there neatly on the floor in wrongly-shaped clothing, staring at the space in front of him.

"C'mon bud, eat up! There's more where that came from if you're still hungry after."

Bucky nodded sharply, picking up his fork, and dove into the food with single-minded determination. He didn't seem to taste it, just ate efficiently and quickly. It was a large portion, but he decimated it before Steve had even finished half of his. Steve barely paid Ron Swanson any heed as he watched in interest as Bucky ate, and then neatly folded his cutlery before placing his hands back on his folded thighs. 

"Wow, you must have been hungry," Steve remarked. "I can make you more if you'd like."

Bucky looked up at him, lowering his eyes again. "Whatever you'd prefer, Master." He looked a little pained, lips a thin line of displeasure, eyes going in and out of focus. Steve watched his face, concerned. 

"You don't look so good. Do you need some water?"

Bucky seemed to shrink before his eyes, shoulders slumping and curling inwards. "Whatever you'd prefer, Master," he repeated, starting to sound unwell. 

He leaned forward to rest a hand on Bucky's shoulder, hating how thin it felt under his hold. "Bucky? What do you need?" 

Blue eyes widened in fear before darting to look at Steve's knees. "I don't feel so good, Master…" Bucky said quietly, swaying slightly. 

Steve moved quickly, racing back to the kitchen to grab a bowl just in time for Bucky to vomit spectacularly into his favorite mixing bowl. Shit. Instinctively, Steve grasped his hanging hair, managing to keep most of it out of the line of fire. Bucky retched a few times, coughing and spluttering as he heaved. 

When he was done, Steve pulled the bowl away, grimacing. He gave Bucky his bottle of water. "C'mon, drink, it'll make you feel better. I hope." 

Bucky glanced at him miserably, eyes and nose streaming, but he didn't wipe them. He took a few cautious sips and Steve brushed a spot of sick off his face. Steve watched him for a few moments, waiting to see if he'd vomit the water back up also. He didn't though and Steve exhaled.

"I'm sorry. Maybe the lasagne was off or something…" But Steve felt totally fine; he'd only bought it the day before. Maybe Bucky had eaten too fast, or was just stressed from the situation. He'd had a rough day, to say the least. "Drink some more water and then you can go shower. It'll make you feel better."

"Yes Master. I'm sorry, Master." 

Steve winced. "Please stop calling me Master."

Bucky swallowed, and shrank a little further away. He didn't say anything.

"Just call me Steve."

Bucky was breathing harder, the sound loud even against Leslie Knope on the television. He sounded on the verge of panic. 

"Bucky? What's wrong? Is there anything I can do?" 

Bucky shook his head furiously, jaw working overtime as he ground his teeth so hard Steve could hear them squeaking. His eyes were wet again, this time from tears. Steve leaned forward, wanting to pull him into a hug but suddenly terrified to. He didn't know what Bucky had been through; maybe even a hug was unwelcome. Given the way Bucky flinched, he guessed that was the case. He was visibly shaking now and Steve had never felt so utterly helpless. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're safe here, okay? I'm never going to hurt you."

Bucky nodded, avoiding his eyes again. 

"Bucky, please, look at me. I want you to look at me."

Fearful eyes met his, moving quickly away but dragging them back to him every time they seemed to notice they'd drifted.

"Okay, breathe with me. Please." As Steve's breathing steadied, so too did Bucky's. He still trembled, but at least he didn't sound on the verge of a panic attack anymore. His eyes continued to focus on Steve, even though it was clear he didn't want to. "I want you to understand, and I know it might be hard to for now, but I'm never going to hurt you. You're safe, okay? And if anyone tries to take you from me, I'll fight them. Like in high school. I was happy to throw a punch when I was 90 pounds, you can bet your ass I'm gonna throw one now, okay? You're safe." 

Bucky nodded, jaw still working. 

"Can I give you a hug?" 

"If you'd like to Ma-. Steve." 

Steve sighed. "Would  _ you _ like one?"

"That's up to you, Steve." 

Steve was scared. He exhaled and decided against hugging Bucky. Until he knew for certain that Bucky wanted a hug, he wasn't going to touch him unless absolutely necessary. 

"Do you want more food? Maybe some toast? Something a little lighter on the stomach?" 

Bucky eyed the bowl he'd been sick in warily and shook his head slowly. 

"Okay, but you have to eat tomorrow."

Bucky nodded. 

"I'd say it's time for a shower. I'll show you the bathroom."

Bucky followed after him silently, his hands held firmly at his sides as he walked. Steve's bathroom was cramped, but he liked it. It had a shower over a small bath that barely fit half of him, but it was a nice concept and great for ice baths when he was training hard. 

"I'll just go get you a towel." 

He sorted through his dismal collection of towels to try and find the softest he owned. Bucky needed soft towels. When he returned to the bathroom Bucky was stripping off efficiently, uncaring of his nakedness in front of Steve. Steve blushed. Out of the hoodie and sweatpants, Steve was reminded of the bruises and what looked like burn marks that littered Bucky's body. He hadn't forgotten them, but had tried not to think about that too hard. The steel manacles around his wrists, ankles and neck looked heavy, solid, and he didn't see any locks on them. There were little rings on them, soldered on. He blinked rapidly as Bucky turned around to grab the towel in Steve's hand, and he saw similar steel in his genital region. He knew what cock cages were; he'd seen the porn, saw discussions of them often enough online. But seeing one on Bucky, no lock in sight, made his stomach twist and turn. 

Bucky took the towel with a quiet "Thank you, Steve," and started the shower as if Steve weren't there. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve returned to the living room. He tidied up, grimacing. Fuck. He didn't know what he could do for Bucky, or what he needed. 

_SR:_ _I'm completely out of my depth here._

Natasha’s reply came through instantly. 

_ NR: What's the damage? Does he need medical? _

Steve thought it over. Bucky was bruised, and the burns looked nasty, but the glances he'd had told him they weren't infected. If he got worried, he could maybe call Sam. He also needed to get Bucky to eat something, but he just hoped they could get by until morning. 

_ SR: Don't think so. He's… not himself. _

_ NR: No shit. He's just spent four years living as a 24/7 slave. Pierce is a monster.  _

_ NR: He probably needs you to tell him what to do. _

_ SR: He's fine.  _

His phone was silent for a few minutes, and if Natasha were there he knew she'd be staring at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to realize his own stupidity. It was a frustratingly effective technique. 

Now that he thought back over the evening, Bucky hadn't really done anything without Steve telling him to. He hadn't left the living room without permission, didn't speak without permission, didn't like being asked to make choices of his own. 

_ SR: Okay fine, he does seem to wait for me to direct him. But isn't it better that I let him start making his decisions? _

_ NR: No. _

Steve rested his phone on his bouncing knee, glaring at the wall. Bucky had just spent  _ years _ having every decision made for him. Steve wasn't going to take his agency away from him, not when he'd just gained it back. 

Steve had  _ morals _ . He went to consent workshops! He occasionally acted as Dungeon Monitor at  _ Bound _ . This wasn't Safe-Sane-Consensual! It sure as heck wasn't Risk-Aware! Bucky was in no state to consent to give him orders, no matter how badly it seemed he needed it. 

It had to be better that Bucky make his own choices, right? He'd realize that he was allowed to make choices and wouldn't be punished soon enough. 

He heard the shower shut off, and the apartment was silent for a few minutes. When Bucky didn't reappear in the living room, Steve returned to the bathroom. Bucky was kneeling naked beside the shower, the towel folded neatly in front of him. 

"Hey, you don't have to do that," Steve said weakly, looking around nervously. Bucky nodded, not looking up at him. Jesus, Steve felt entirely out of his depth. He didn't even understand what was happening! He awkwardly passed over gray sweatpants, and waited for Bucky to dress. 

"Okay, it's bedtime!" He sounded so resigned, even to his own ears. What if he couldn't do this? What if he couldn't bring Bucky back?

He shook his head, as if shaking his head hard enough would remove those thoughts from his syntax. He had to believe he could, or he wouldn't be able to. 

"You can have the bed," Steve said, leading Bucky into his bedroom. It was a little messier than he usually kept it, but he'd been in a rush to go to work that morning and… Whatever. It was still better than a goddamn wet cell. 

Bucky looked uncomfortable, shifting slowly from one foot to the other. Again, there was something there that Steve couldn't quite put his finger on, and he watched Bucky practically squirming with discomfort. Was he still feeling ill from dinner? He was looking pale, and kept glancing at the door. 

Oh god, was Bucky expecting Steve to rape him? He understood suddenly how it looked, getting Bucky clean and taking him to bed… God. Steve felt sick at the thought. 

Bucky was shifting a little more now, looking at Steve with desperate eyes. Steve reached out instinctively, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder, attempting some semblance of comfort. He jerked it away suddenly, realizing that this was not going to help his protest that he wasn't about to use Bucky's body for his own pleasure. 

"Bucky, I'm not going to hurt you. I'll never do anything to hurt you. That's over, okay?" Bucky was looking at the ground, only the tiniest flickers of his eyes shooting up to look at Steve's face. He looked so miserable, and desperate, as if trying to wordlessly convey something to Steve that Steve couldn't interpret. 

As Steve watched his face, he saw it morph into one of pain, before going blank again. Bucky was hurt? With Bucky still naked, Steve dragged his eyes over his form, trying to identify the source of the pain. The bruises and burns looked old, and didn't seem infected from where he was standing. 

"Something's wrong. What is it?" 

Bucky's eyes widened, his expression torn. His mouth fell open a little, and he sounded like he was panting slightly. He closed his eyes, scrunching them shut as it seemed more pain bothered him. 

"Bucky! If you need a hospital, you have to tell me." His voice was on the side of too hard, but he needed to get through to Bucky. He needed to know if he was doing the wrong thing by keeping him here. 

"I don't need a hospital, Steve," Bucky said, voice tight and strained. He looked like he was trying to hold back, trying not to let the discomfort in his face show. He was practically vibrating beside Steve, but his hands remained stubbornly at his sides, not even shifting too much from foot to foot. It gave Steve exactly zero indication of what was wrong. Through his desperation of trying, wanting to fix Bucky, he felt a dull anger that HYDRA might have trained his pain responses out of him, or at the least punished him if he ever indicated pain. 

Bucky blinked rapidly a few more times, exhaling shakily. He met Steve's eyes momentarily before dragging them away again.

Steve wanted to shake him! He didn't know what was wrong, and if he didn't know what was wrong, he couldn't help. 

Bucky's expression was resigned finally, miserable, and his face was flushing an impressive shade of red. He squirmed some more, eyes shut in pain and then… it disappeared. 

He raked his eyes over Bucky frantically, and then… Oh. Oh god. 

There was a puddle on the floor, a large wet patch on the front of the gray sweatpants Steve had given him. It… No. Could it? No. Oh god, it was.

Bucky had wet himself. 

What the fuck?

What the  _ fuck _ had HYDRA done to him?

Steve was getting whiplash from how quickly he was looking at Bucky's mess, and his face, mess, and face, and… 

No. No. He needed to remain calm. No anger. No anger at HYDRA. He had to deal with Bucky, who looked just about ready to throw himself out of a building, but hadn't moved. He was trembling with what Steve had to assume was either fear, or mortification, or both. He had no idea.

"Bucky, are you okay?" he asked, voice strained to his own ears. 

Bucky nodded, eyes trained on the ground, standing in the puddle of his own making. He wasn't shifting anymore. 

He tried to keep his voice even, gentle, but the incredulity was still a thread through it. "Why didn't you just go to the bathroom?" 

Bucky murmured something that Steve couldn't make out. 

"Sorry, what was that?" 

Bucky's voice wavered when he spoke. "You didn't give me permission…" 

"I… What?" Steve folded his arms across his chest, feeling awkward and… Bucky wanted permission to use the bathroom? To the point that he had wet himself? "Why not just ask?"

"Because you didn't tell me I could." 

Steve didn't even know what to make of this. His head hurt. His insides hurt. His  _ heart _ hurt. He ran a hand over his face, heaving a sigh. 

"Just… go shower. I'll clean up, okay?"

Bucky disappeared from the room, trailing wet footsteps after him. 

Steve stared at the space in front of him for a few minutes, not even really thinking anything, just feeling a mixture of uncomfortable emotions that he couldn't quite process right then. Then he jolted from his thoughts, and went to grab an old towel, and some disinfectant. As Bucky took his second shower, he cleaned up, and thinking he might have some extra time, changed the sheets on his bed. Bucky deserved his nice sheets, the good quality ones he used to keep for when his mom visited, or he had guests. Bucky was technically a guest, he supposed.

But… God. God. He'd… 

No.

Steve grabbed all those thoughts and put them in a box, marked it mentally with large letters screaming DEAL WITH LATER and put that box high on the shelf in the corners of his mind. He just had to show Bucky that it was okay, that he was safe. He… he could use the bathroom if he wanted to. 

He heard the shower shut off, and went back to the bathroom. Bucky was drying himself and quickly knelt as he had before. He was no longer blushing furiously, and instead looked miserable and resigned. Steve sighed inwardly; how could he get across to Bucky that he didn't need to kneel?

"Yeah, yeah, very good pal. C'mon, it's bedtime, I'd say!" He folded the towel over the shower railing, his bathroom too small to accomodate a second towel easily. Bucky got up and followed him wordlessly into the bedroom. 

"Okay, if you need anything, I'll be sleeping on the couch. It's okay to wake me if you need something. And uh, please go to the bathroom if you need to. There's no restrictions there." 

It felt so wrong to him, to be making statements like that, that Bucky seemed to think there were rules. Steve didn't want to tell Bucky to do anything! Bucky had been living under so many rules and he wanted Bucky to do what he wanted. 

When he finally collapsed on the pull-out couch, wrapped in a stuffy blanket that smelled of mothballs, he felt for sure he'd fall asleep right away. It had been a day, for sure, and in some ways he was absolutely exhausted. But with the lights off, and nothing to distract him, he was greeted with thoughts and memories and visions, emotions that he didn't want to uncover yet. 

Bucky would be fine. It was just an adjustment. Steve would get him back to normal quickly. 

He tossed and turned on the couch, wincing at the thin mattress full of springs and the smell making his airways feel closed. How had it only been a day? 

Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, he fell into troubled sleep. 

*

 

The slave tossed and turned in the bed.

Why was he in a bed? The slave had not had a bed in a very long time. He didn't know how long. He didn't know how long he'd been with Master.

But he did not get beds. Beds were for good boys, and Masters, and he was neither. 

It was too soft. And he never thought he'd miss his chains, but he did. The weight had been reassuring. The knowledge that he was wanted, a possession, had been comforting.

Maybe his new Owner didn't want to keep him. If he wanted to keep the slave, then he'd have chained him to the bed. 

He didn't know about his new home or his new Owner, but Master had always told him to obey whoever was in the room. He wondered when Master was coming for him. The slave didn't want to go back to Master. 

The slave slapped himself, head jerking from the force of it. He wasn't permitted to have thoughts like that. What if Master heard them? 

New Owner… Steve… was nice. His house was warm. 

The slave had been so cold before. He'd thought he'd never be warm again. 

So cold.

He would be good. He'd be good if he could stay warm.

He'd never spill tea again. 

Just don't put him back in the cellar. 

Just don't hose him off again. 

He'd be good. He'd be so good. 

He turned around in the bed again, feeling too light. Master had always said that he was chained to the bed because it meant he was owned, and that Master wanted to keep him. Maybe his new Owner didn't value His property. 

He didn't know how much time passed. He tried to sleep, but he wasn't sure if he was allowed. Owner had not said that he was permitted to sleep, but had made him lie down. Maybe this was a test. He had tested the slave a lot. He didn't give the slave orders when he usually had them, and was probably testing how well he was trained. So far, the slave had been good. The slave hadn't broken any rules, had obeyed with the same single-mindedness that Master had said made him an excellent slave most of the time. He never needed to be told things twice, but Master liked making sure the lesson went deep, that there was never any doubt in his mind of who was in charge.

The slave’s eyelids were heavy, but his heart raced. He couldn't fall asleep. Maybe his Owner would hose him off too if he accidentally fell asleep.

This was just a test… This was just a test… He'd passed so many other tests before and he'd pass this one. 

The words repeated over and over in his mind. 

When the color of the sky outside the small bedroom window finally changed, he relaxed a little. He was exhausted, delirious with it really, but he'd survived the night and hadn't fallen asleep once. The slave was a good boy. The slave wouldn't be punished. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fewer warnings for this chapter. Mostly just Steve trying to be a good friend and fucking up immensely :D Sometimes what you think is right isn't always the case... I guess there are warnings for like, learning a tiny bit more about Bucky's life under HYDRA but nowhere near as intense as the last chapter. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, pals <3

Steve was exhausted. He hadn't slept well in a few days, and from the dark circles under Bucky's eyes, he suspected Bucky was sleeping just as poorly as he was. 

The next few days had passed in much the same horror as the first, blessedly without Bucky wetting himself. But even then, that only hadn't happened because Steve had noticed Bucky looking uncomfortable and told him to use the bathroom. He was going to make himself sick if things continued like this!

Bucky didn't do anything without permission, and even though he looked far less spaced out, he wouldn't so much as move without anxiously checking Steve's face for something he didn't know how to give. He didn't speak most of the time, even when spoken to. He didn't ask for  _ anything _ , which stressed Steve out far more than he expected. He didn't know when Bucky was thirsty, or hungry, and he was barely eating or drinking. 

Natasha was no help either. Apparently something had come up and she was out of state. And her advice was  _ useless _ . She seemed to think Steve needed to start bossing Bucky around, giving him instructions, otherwise it was just going to make Bucky resent him. In her words, he needed to  _ Dom the fuck up _ , or they'd all end up miserable. And she'd threatened to take Bucky under her wing if he wouldn't, and that… Steve wasn't okay with that. 

But Steve had  _ morals _ . He went to consent workshops! He occasionally acted as Dungeon Monitor at  _ Bound _ . This wasn't Safe-Sane-Consensual! It sure as heck wasn't Risk-Aware! Bucky was in no state to consent to give him orders, no matter how badly it seemed he needed it.  

On the fourth day, Natasha sent him an article, no explanation.

It was on  _ The Dark Side. _ With a frown, he logged on via the phone app. Sometimes she sent him porn, sometimes she sent him information. Usually, it was worth looking at though, and right now? Right now he was desperate. 

**_The End Of A Master/slave Relationship_ ** **.**

Steve raised his eyebrows. It was an older article, and he didn't really see the relevance. Steve didn't do power exchange outside of a scene. She had to have sent it to him for a purpose. Ugh, he hated how cryptic she was at times. 

_ Master Dave and I had been together twelve years, and in a 24/7 Total Power Exchange for eight of those years when things changed. We reached a point in our lives that we just couldn't continue, as much as we both really wanted it to. Health issues, family issues… Those of you close to us know the details.  _

_ But it wasn't as simple as taking my collar off and returning to the way we were. We'd been this way for so long, and didn't know how to be any other way. And yet, we had to be.  _

_ The first few weeks were hard. I didn't realize how dependent on my protocols I had become. I went grocery shopping and I didn't know how to do it. I didn't know how to take my medication. An M/s relationship can be extremely fulfilling and extremely helpful for those of us that thrive under it. But it felt like being pushed into the ocean with nothing to float on.  _

_ Master Dave and I had to deescalate the relationship. _

_ Easier said than done, and it dragged the pain out far longer than either of us would have liked. But now we see that it was the best thing for both of us. I had to unlearn being a 24/7 TPE slave, and he had to unlearn being a 24/7 TPE Master.  _

_ I even had to unlearn typing He instead of he, for He is not my Master anymore.  _

_ Luckily, Master Dave is a smart man. That's one of the things I've always loved about him. He pushed on, even when it was hard, and he made me want to push on as well.  _

_ It's hard to end an M/s relationship, particularly one as strong as we had. Sometimes, I know we both wanted to throw in the towel. Deescalating felt like a stronger torture than just ending it all quickly. Surely getting the pain out of the way was easier and faster, right?  _

_ So now, I am a free slave. A slave without a Master feels like a boat without an anchor. _

_ But maybe that's what this boat needs. To be free on the seas for a while, before I decide to moor myself to anyone. _

_ Master Dave, I love you and will always love you, with all of my heart. Thank you for the last eight years of my life. _

Steve frowned as he read. And reread. And reread. 

What  _ was _ Natasha trying to get at here? He had a sinking suspicion he knew what she was saying, but he didn't like it one bit. 

_ SR: So?  _

_ NR: He's been in a TPE for the last 4 years. You can't just take that away and expect him to be fine. He needs to be eased out of it.  _

Steve looked at where Bucky had knelt in the corner, eyes down, face so goddamn miserable it broke Steve's heart. 

He huffed to himself, grabbed his glasses, and brought his laptop to his knees, fingers hovering over the keys. He frowned, not even sure what to search at first. He searched 'breaking conditioning', not quite sure if that was the best phrase, but not sure where else to start. An M/s relationship was a lot of conditioning, Steve knew that much from the workshops he'd attended when he'd first started exploring the kink scene. He hesitated to call what had happened to Bucky an M/s relationship, given the  _ total disregard for consent _ , but it seemed Pierce had viewed it as one and had engaged it in such a way. He'd no doubt conditioned Bucky, but to the nth degree. 

Google brought up some answers, mostly about social conditioning. But he had a few more terms to work with thanks to an article or two. Wikipedia may not have been appropriate for school papers, but it was appropriate everywhere else damnit! 

He fell down the research rabbit hole, at least twenty-three tabs open on his browser, taking in as much information as he could. 

Ha! Here was something that worked.  _ Flooding _ . _Exposing someone to unpleasant things so that they were better able to manage it_. It was considered quick and effective. 

Yes, this was perfect. He opened another six tabs about flooding, becoming more and more sure that this was the way to do things. It would be unpleasant as hell, but give it a week, maybe two, and Bucky would be back to normal. Easy peasy. Way better than dragging it out over who knew how long? And Steve couldn't be the one to deescalate it either. He didn't know how to dominate someone, at least not in a situation like this. 

He quickly typed out a few notes, and slammed his laptop shut so hard that he winced to himself; that can't have been good for the screen. 

He looked over at Bucky with a grin. 

"So, what do you want for dinner?"

 

*

 

Steve was in way over his head.  _ Way _ . Over. His. Head. 

To say the least.

Oh god, had he made it worse?

He'd definitely made it worse. 

Bucky… Bucky wasn't good.

For all Steve's good intentions, things were not going well. 

"C'mon, Buck, I just want you to tell me what you want to do today!" Steve pleaded desperately, clinging to his last shred of sanity in the hopes that they'd make it through the darkness and into the light any moment now. Any moment, and the Bucky he knew would be back, and all of this would seem like a silly story, one they'd be able to laugh about for years to come. 

That might have been a foolish hope. 

Bucky looked on the verge of tears, and Steve was again reminded that the only likely reason Bucky hadn't cried was because it had been beaten out of him. He probably hadn't been allowed to cry, or if he did, was punished. 

"Bucky, c'mon!" Steve encouraged, frustration become more and more apparent in his tone.

Bucky pushed himself against the wall, pulling as far away from Steve as possible, burying his face in his hands. And finally, he heard Bucky sob. His thin body shook, and he looked like he was trying to stop himself crying but wasn't able to fight it. 

Steve stopped himself short, wincing. Guilt twisted in his gut. No… No… He… He hadn't… meant to…

"Bucky, I'm…" Steve went down on one knee beside him, hand hovering nervously over Bucky's shoulder. He touched Bucky, trying to comfort him, but Bucky flinched so hard, looked up at him with heartbroken, overflowing eyes.

Steve felt like a monster, and recoiled. He sat down beside him a few feet away, slumping against the opposite wall, his elbows on his knees. 

"Shit, pal, I'm sorry…" he admitted, voice low. He'd terrified Bucky. He'd made Bucky feel unsafe. He'd only wanted to help, to make him feel safe and good and okay, but maybe he was just as bad as Pierce… Maybe he couldn't do this. Bucky was curled up again, his face hidden, breathing harsh and shaking. 

Maybe Natasha was better for this than him… He stared at Bucky, heart aching, at a loss. 

No. Goddamnit, no, he was going to  _ fix _ this. Steve Rogers had survived on sheer stubbornness alone for more years of his life than otherwise, and he wasn't about to stop now.

"Okay, none of that," Steve said, pushing more force into his voice than he cared to think about.

Bucky's head shot up again, staring at Steve with wide, frightened eyes. The crying stopped abruptly. 

He surprised himself when he spoke finally. "I want you to get up, go to the bathroom, wash your face. Then, I want you to go to the kitchen and make us both a PB&J sandwich. Also, make me a coffee, and yourself a drink of whatever you want. If you can't decide, make yourself a coffee as well. I like it with milk, but no sugar. Then, bring the coffee and sandwiches to me, and kneel on a cushion at the edge of the couch. Do you understand?" It came out naturally, easily, without thinking. 

Bucky's mouth fell open and against all odds, his eyes widened further. His mouth snapped shut with a click of the teeth. He nodded once.

"Good. Then do it." 

Bucky jumped to his feet, rushing off to the bathroom, sniffling a little. Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a  _ thunk _ , and hit it gently and repeatedly. Again, he shelved the emotions to deal with later, pushing himself to his feet and over to his laptop on the couch. 

He had research to do.

 

*

Bucky was kneeling in front of him again, but at least he was using the cushion Steve had given him. It had made Steve wince for the tiny bones in Bucky's feet when he'd seen him kneeling on the wooden floor. He hadn't had a chance to remove Bucky's cuffs and collar, and every time he saw them he grimaced. Bolt cutters. He was getting bolt cutters after this conversation. 

The empty plates and mostly-drunk mugs were on the coffee table. It had been their most successful meal in days; Bucky hadn't thrown up this time, and he wasn't crying. He appeared wary, but far less fearful than he'd been earlier. That… That had been terrifying, if only because of the sheer helplessness Steve had felt. Steve wasn’t used to feeling helpless.  

Steve sighed. "Okay. Something's gotta give, Buck. So. First things first… I need you to nod 'yes' or shake 'no' for me. That's an order. If you need to verbalise something, I want you to say it, but I know that's kinda hard for you now. So I'll, uh, try to keep it to yes and no questions, okay?" He kept his voice firm, the same tone he used in scenes, or in meetings. He'd used it a lot in high school debates too, and even at a bare five feet, he'd talked down to teachers and students alike. It had been surprisingly effective and now, combined with his height and broad shoulders, he got a lot of the respect he hadn't received before. 

Watching him with cautious eyes, Bucky nodded, movement almost imperceptible. 

"Okay. Great. That's very good, Bucky." He saw a little bit of tension drop from Bucky's shoulders, his eyes become the tiniest bit less fearful. Steve knew that he should be disappointed, but instead he just felt relief. This isn't what he wanted to do, but maybe it was the  _ right _ thing to do. 

"Is it okay if I call you Bucky? Or would you prefer another name?" Bucky frowned, a little pinch of confusion between his eyebrows, before he shook his head. Steve realized his error; he didn't know what Bucky was shaking his head to. "Another name?" Bucky shook his head, the softest hint of a smile turning the crease at his mouth. "Bucky is okay?" He nodded. 

Steve smiled. "Good, very good. Thank you, Bucky." His stomach tightened in anticipation of his next question. "Do you want to go back to HYDRA and Pierce? Because if you do, I'll take you… But I'd like to keep you here, if that's what you want." He paused and then added: "So do you want to go back?"

Bucky shook his head without hesitation. Steve exhaled heavily, the knot in his stomach loosening. "Wonderful. Thank you. I want to take care of you, and make you happy. Would you like that?" Another nod; Bucky's shoulders dropped a little more, and whilst still cautious he didn't seem on the verge of a meltdown for the first time in days. 

"I'm going to take care of you, but I want to change a few things," Steve said slowly, not even sure where to start. There was just so much… He felt giddy and overwhelmed, but he pressed on. "Firstly, I'm going to remove your collar, and cuffs." Bucky's eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, hand going to clutch at the heavy metal around his neck. He was scared again. Steve had read about attachment to things like collars, so he had something in place already and was suddenly grateful for doing his research. "But don't worry," he went on to say. "I'm going to replace it with one of my own. I'm not uncollaring you, just marking you as my own. Is that okay, Bucky?" Bucky nodded once, still not relaxing though. 

"The next is behaviour. You're very well-behaved, but I don't like some of the ways Pierce trained you. You've done nothing wrong, but I like to do things differently. I won't ask you if that's okay, because these are  _ my _ rules, and I expect you to obey them. Understood?" He hated how he sounded, but pushed on, fighting the urge to clench his jaw. 

And for some peculiar reason,  _ that _ seemed to ease something in Bucky. A weak smile teased at the corners of his mouth again as he nodded his understanding. Steve grinned, and without even thinking about it, reached out and petted Bucky's hair. It wasn't soft like he remembered, but tangled and matted. After a moment of freezing, Bucky  _ melted _ into the touch. Steve couldn't bear to take his hand away then, and instead rubbed his fingers across Bucky's scalp. 

"Good boy," he murmured, a warm feeling in his chest. "Your first rule is that if something feels wrong, or makes you unhappy, you need to let me know. If you don’t like something, I want you to shake your head very hard for me. And if it’s a definite no, I'd like you to safeword by using 'red'. But if you can’t or don’t want to speak, I want you to do this motion for me." He withdrew his hand from Bucky's hair and lay his left palm out flat, and brought the edge of his right hand down across it in a firm chopping motion. He’d read in some of the articles that using signs was effective, and thanks to a period when he was about nine and hadn’t had the best hearing, he knew a few. Maybe somewhere in there, Bucky would remember those signs as well. "Can you show me that?" 

Bucky frowned slightly and, looking as if it physically pained him to do it, copied the motion.

"Good. I'm very proud of you," he said, tone softening unconsciously, as he returned his hand to Bucky's hair. Bucky relaxed again, happy at the touch and compliment. "Your next rule is that you have to ask for things. If you're hungry, you must tell me. If you're thirsty, you must tell me. If you need the bathroom, tell me. If you're tired and want to rest? Tell me. I know this is going to be very hard for you, as I believe Pierce's rule was that you couldn't speak, even to state your needs. Am I correct?" At Bucky's nod, Steve had to fight the urge (for probably the four hundredth time that day alone) to drive upstate and beat Pierce senseless. Instead, he swallowed his anger and continued speaking in a soft, but firm, voice. "Thank you, Buck." He moved his hand to the base of Bucky's skull, rubbing there. Bucky's eyelashes fluttered and he seemed to melt a little more. "From now on, I want you to tell me those things. That's your next rule. Can you do that for me, sweet boy?" The softer words slipped out, but Bucky didn't seem to mind. 

Bucky nodded enthusiastically, a little rumbling sound coming from the back of his throat. 

"No matter what you do, or what you tell me, I'm never going to get angry at you. I'm never going to hurt you, okay? If you don't like something, even if you don't like the food I give you, you must tell me, okay? How am I supposed to take care of you otherwise?" Bucky's eyes opened slowly, looking a little confused at how to respond to that and instead choosing to go with silence. "You know why I want to take care of you?" Steve waited for Bucky to slowly shake his head. "Because you're mine. And I don't like to break things that are mine. I take care of my things. So I'm going to take care of you." 

It made his skin crawl to talk about Bucky like he was some kind of possession. It wasn’t his kink at all. But Bucky positively started  _ glowing _ and he looked closer to a smile than he had in days. It was the right thing for Bucky right now, and Steve was going to help him. He was going to help Bucky get back to normal, and if part of that was to make Bucky feel like a possession, then by god, Steve was going to do it, and make him feel like a damn treasured possession while he was at it. 

"Good. I'm so proud of you." Steve rubbed his scalp a little more, absently combing his fingers through some of the easier tangles as he went. He frowned as he got stuck on another knot, gently picking it apart and doing his best not to tug on the scalp. "Hey, bud, what do you say I brush this for you?" Bucky cocked his head, expression curious. "It's a bit knotted. You can say no. You're allowed to say no to anything that isn't a direct order." Bucky slowly nodded, giving him a little smile as he lowered his eyes. "That a yes?" Another nod. 

Steve eased himself off the couch and went searching the bathroom for his comb. The knots feeling as they did, he also hunted for an old bottle of conditioner that an ex-girlfriend had left. Hopefully that would make it easier, and he wouldn't have to take scissors to the worst clumps.

Bucky was still kneeling on the cushion when Steve returned, but Steve hadn't expected anything else. He set himself up on the couch again, crossing his legs under him. "Sit a little closer, won't you?" Bucky eased the cushion closer to the couch obediently. "Now, do you mind turning around? I can get to your hair more easily that way." Bucky turned around without question, back ramrod straight. 

Steve sighed, fearing if they'd lost what little progress they'd gained. But when Steve ran a gentle hand over the back of Bucky's head, he relaxed a little again. He poured some conditioner into his hand, and smoothed it through Bucky's ends, the sweet smell of—he glanced at the bottle—vanilla and strawberries filling the air. With the comb, he eased the simplest of the knots away, bringing his fingers in to pick apart the more complex ones. Whenever he encountered something particularly difficult, he held the upper parts of the hair, determined not to make Bucky suffer any pain, even if it was just the pain of some pulled hair. 

He lost track of time as he went, only paying attention to Bucky's body language. Bucky softened more and more, and Steve found himself unable to stop himself rubbing at Bucky's neck and scalp soothingly. Bucky pushed against his hand a few times, and every so often Steve could have sworn he heard a little sweet sigh. In response, Steve rubbed a little harder, trying to reward him. 

By the time he was done, Bucky was soft and pliant, eyes closed, little smile on his face. Steve's insides were warm, and for the first time in days, he felt like he'd done the right thing. He ran his fingers through the hair, giving it a few more run throughs to confirm that each and every knot was done for. He'd lost some hair, but Steve was pleased that he'd been able to defeat the mess with minimal casualties. Did Bucky like his hair like this? If it came with negative memories he'd get the clippers out the moment Bucky wanted. 

"There you go," Steve said, finally drawing away with a sad sigh. He'd been enjoying that, but there was only so long he could comb the now sleek and tidy hair. "What about you go have a shower, wash that conditioner out?" 

Bucky turned to look at him, expression forlorn. "No?" Steve frowned, trying to figure out what he wanted. He sighed. "I'm sorry, you gotta let me know if there's something you want."

At that, Bucky frowned at Steve's knees, lips becoming a thin line. His eyes darted around, clearly trying to work up the courage to speak. He opened his mouth a few times, but no sound came out, and he snapped it shut again. Steve didn't say anything, didn't move, wanted some indication that Bucky was done trying. Hope blossomed in his chest, but he tried to temper it, lest he be disappointed. This was a positive, he didn't need to feel disappointed even if Bucky couldn't speak up about what he wanted yet. 

"You… help?" Bucky bit his lip, breathing hard, as if the act of using just two words had cost him a lot. It probably had. 

Steve grinned and exhaled in relief. "Sure. I can help you wash it out. Thank you for telling me; I'm so proud of you."

Bucky gave him a weak smile and let Steve pull him to his feet. 

Steve got the shower running to a nice warm temperature. "Why don't you check that and let me know it's not too hot or cold?" Bucky stared at the shower, and then back at his feet. He made no move to do so, and Steve didn't push it. He'd asked a lot of Bucky in the last hour or two; this was good enough. 

As Bucky stripped out of Steve's t-shirt and sweatpants, he was reminded of the little silver cage around his genitals and winced. He'd have to cut that off too. It was a terrifying prospect but he didn't really want to ask a stranger to do it. He looked away, trying to focus on the little bits of progress they'd made instead of the long road ahead. 

He got Bucky to sit in the bottom of the tub, and he knelt beside him, gently washing the conditioner out. Not wanting the moment to end, he shampooed, and then conditioned Bucky's hair again, heart racing at the little smile on Bucky's face. Even under the heavy spray, he seemed content to sit there and let Steve wash his hair for him. 

Eventually, Steve couldn't put it off any longer, and he turned the shower off. He didn't think that also washing Bucky would be a good idea. It would be an abuse of the moment, so he let it slide. 

He handed Bucky a fresh towel, and gave him instructions to dress again and join him in the living room. 

He sat down heavily, rubbing at his three-day old stubble absently. He could do this. He didn't want to, but he could. This could work. He just had to get Bucky to trust him, to obey his orders, and slowly ease him out of that. But for now, he needed Bucky to learn that he was safe, that Steve would give him orders and that he'd look after him. God, even with all of his research, he didn't even know where to begin. 

Most of the reading he'd done had been from relationships where the dynamic was already established, of Masters easing their slaves out of their protocols and rituals. There was no way in hell that Steve was going to maintain Pierce's rituals! 

Fuck. 

He didn't even know what most of Pierce's rituals were. Surely not all of them were bad, right? 

Inwardly, he snorted. They probably were… 

Bucky returned from the bathroom, dressed again in a t-shirt and sweatpants, hair no longer dripping, but damp and hanging around his face. He looked better, happier and more at peace. He lingered at the edge of the living room, and Steve patted the cushion in front of him, curious to see if Bucky would obey an unspoken request.

He did, crossing the room with something just short of a skip in his step, and curled his feet under him as he came to sit at Steve's feet. There was still space between them, and Steve wanted to draw him in closer, bring him so his chest was pressing against his shins but… He didn't. 

"You look much better, bud," he said proudly, fingers running through a few strands of Bucky's hair to straighten it. "Are you feeling better?"

Bucky nodded, eyes bright. 

"Now, please help me to understand. I want to know what rules Pierce gave you. Do you think you can tell me what those rules are yet?" 

Bucky appeared hesitant, some of the joy in his face disappearing. 

Steve sighed internally. He didn't really want to play guessing games, but you played the field you were on. "How about we do what we were doing before?"

Bucky nodded, the tension in his face easing. He still didn't look as happy as before, and Steve cursed himself. He could have let the nice moment remain, but no… this was important. 

"Did you have to wait for permission to eat?" 

A nod. 

"Could you eat when you were hungry?"

A shake of the head. 

"So they fed you when  _ they _ wanted you to eat?"

Nod.

"Were you fed every day?"

A shake of the head. 

"Was food withheld as a punishment?"

A nod.

Fury. There was  _ fury _ . Steve had to swallow that, and instead soothed himself with the image of doing horrific things to Pierce. He inhaled shakily, counting to ten, and exhaled. "In this house, you tell me when you're hungry, and I'll let you know if it's time to eat. I don't care if it's 2am and you want pizza; you wake me up, and you ask for food. Food is never going to be withheld as a punishment, nor used as a reward. If I want to punish you, I'll find another means. It is an order that if you're hungry, you must let me know. I need my boy to be healthy, and if he's not eating, he's not healthy and he can't serve me to the best of his abilities. You want to serve me well, don't you Bucky?" 

A very enthusiastic nod, and a little smile. 

Steve rubbed Bucky behind the ears, and the smile lingered even as his eyes closed. 

"Good. Then I want you to let me know when you're hungry. That's an order. The same goes for water. I want you to drink lots of it, but don't make yourself sick. Now, you remember the bathroom rules too, right? You can go whenever you need to, but you have to ask." 

Bucky nodded again, looking more relieved with every passing comment. 

Maybe he could do this.

 

*

 

The afternoon went better than expected. They mostly watched things on Netflix, Bucky sitting quietly at Steve's feet, and Steve read on his laptop, paying the television little heed. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. It was peaceful, and the most calm he'd felt since he'd brought Bucky home. He wasn't looking forward to going back to work tomorrow, but he really couldn't afford any more days off. He had more than enough leave accrued but he wanted to save it lest another emergency occur. 

He wasn't sure what he'd do with Bucky while he wasn't there, but… He'd figure something out. The research he was doing was helpful, and he had a few ideas in mind. He had a plan; it had an Excel spreadsheet and everything, tracking the things he would control, and how to slowly relax things. He had to be more flexible though, and pay attention to Bucky's needs more than he had been. Steve's own needs were not Bucky's.

Steve  _ needed _ to be in control. He needed autonomy, and the power to make his own decisions. He'd had too many bullies try to push him around as a kid, and that had grown in him a stubbornness that couldn't be eased. He'd thought Bucky needed that too, and had tried to force it on him. But Bucky didn't need that at all; it was the opposite. 

Dinner went a little better too. Instead of forcing Bucky to sit at the table, where he looked miserable, he placed the cushion beside him. Bucky seemed happier there anyway. And god help him, Steve would do anything to make him happy, even if it made him feel a little awkward. 

He passed a fork down to Bucky, who took it looking a little unsure. 

"We haven't established whether you need to wait for permission to eat," Steve told him. Bucky still looked hesitant, eyes darting between Steve and the bowl of gnocchi on the ground. "Would you like permission to eat?" 

Bucky nodded slowly, now staring anxiously at the fork in his hand. Steve tried not to do a victory dance, or pump his fist. Bucky had expressed an  _ opinion _ ! Progress! More progress in a few hours than in days! He was on the right track. 

"In that case… Bucky, you may begin eating." And with that, he picked up his, stabbing at the pasta. 

Bucky placed the fork on the ground and knelt forward, elbows on the floor and bending towards the bowl with his head. Steve froze and watched; Bucky seemed to feel his eyes on him and glanced up nervously, already shrinking away from what he perceived as punishment. 

How had he missed  _ this?  _ Bucky had eaten with a utensil the past few days… Never mind that, what mattered was right now. 

"They made you eat out of bowls on the floor?" Steve asked, voice high and tight to his own ears. Bucky nodded. "Oh geeze…" He ran a hand over his face and saw Bucky shrink even more, his breathing much harder and faster suddenly. "No, no, you're not in trouble. Not at all. But if you'd like to use a fork, you may." He frowned and caught himself. "You need to use a fork, Bucky. That's how I'd like this done." 

Bucky's brow furrowed, chewing his lower lip, clearly contemplating this. He righted himself. Eyes moving rapidly between the bowl, the fork he slowly picked up, and Steve, he delicately pierced a piece and brought it to his mouth. Steve released a breath he didn't know he was holding, as Bucky carefully chewed and swallowed. Bucky gave him another tiny smile, still looking shaky, and then took another piece. 

"Good boy," Steve told him, petting the top of his head. "I'm proud of you. You've earned the use of it for being such a good boy."

That seemed to be the right thing to say as Bucky perked up, and finished his third piece with an actual smile. 

Steve dove into his own food, mixing the sauce around. Bucky's bowl looked so plain without sauce, but he was still cautious about giving him too much lest he be sick again. He had sprinkled some salt and pepper over it though, which had to give it some flavor. Bucky seemed to be enjoying it, and that was all that mattered really. 

The evening passed with relative peace. He set up with a sketchbook, idly doing some designs for work, and gave Bucky a book to read. He hadn't even finished _Good Omens_ , but it was the first book he'd pulled from his relatively small bookshelf. Bucky had seemed entranced with it and had been quietly reading since, tearing through page after page, expression rapt. 

"I had an idea about your sleeping arrangements," Steve said as he drew. He'd done a ridiculous amount of reading on Master/slave relationships even in the evening, and he'd added so many ideas to his spreadsheet. "Did your old Masters make you sleep on the floor?"

Bucky nodded, dragging his eyes away from the book to look at Steve. 

"With a mattress?"

Bucky shook his head. 

That could explain why he hadn't been sleeping. He'd not said anything about it to Steve, but had looked exhausted most mornings; when Steve had asked him if he'd slept well, he'd shaken his head. 

"Okay. Tonight, we're doing things differently. Tonight, I want you to sleep on a mattress in the living room, not my bed." It felt wrong to make him do that, but he had a sinking suspicion that this might work. "And I'm going to tie you to the bed tonight."

Bucky cocked his head. There was no fear in his expression, just curiosity. 

So after the evening routine, after teeth were brushed and Bucky's hair was combed  _ again _ , Steve pulled the mattress out of the fold-out couch and put it on the floor. His first instinct was to make the bed, but he held back. He had to be all in for this to work. 

He asked Bucky to make the bed, which was absolutely the right thing to do. There was relief, and peace, and even a hint of happiness as Bucky folded the sheets, tucking the blankets in neatly. When he was done, he knelt beside it, looking up at Steve with a blend of pride and anxiety, as if expecting Steve to tell him what he'd done wrong. 

"That looks great, Buck!" Steve told him, even though he'd supervised the whole thing and fought with himself not to assist. The nervousness in Bucky's face eased and he visibly relaxed. 

Steve went to his rope bag beside the TV cabinet, pulling a hank out. He went back to the sofa, looped the rope around one of its stubby legs and tied it quickly and easily. He turned to a still kneeling Bucky and looped the other end of the rope around the ring at the front of his collar. 

"Remind me to replace that collar tomorrow," Steve instructed, checking the tightness of the rope. 

Bucky nodded, watching with wide eyes as Steve finally let the rope drop. "There. Much better. Maybe you'll be able to sleep better now." He stood back up and put his hands on his hips, nodding more to himself than to Bucky. It was just rope, and two simple knots, so Bucky wasn't really in any way restrained; it was more about the act of tying him up for the night. The rope was 26 feet, folded in half, and was long enough that Bucky could go to the bathroom in the night if he needed. 

To his surprise, Bucky threw himself at Steve's legs, wrapping his arms enthusiastically around his knees, face pressed to Steve's thighs. He looked utterly delighted. Steve didn't even have it in him to feel angry at HYDRA now, was just relieved that he seemed to have done the right thing. It was the most positive show of emotion that Bucky had given.

Bucky sat back on his heels, face terrified suddenly, as if realizing exactly what he'd done. 

"You're okay, Bucky," Steve said quickly, trying to keep his voice soothing. "You've done nothing wrong. I take it that this makes you feel good?" 

Bucky nodded rapidly, smiling with a hint of teeth. He really did have a beautiful smile… Steve would do everything in his power to make sure he smiled multiple times a day for the rest of his life. 

"Good boy. You know why I've done this? Because you're mine, and I want to make sure what's mine is safe. I want to keep you here, and this makes sure you stay here. Now I usually like you to ask permission to go to the bathroom, and you've been very good at that today. As a reward, I'm going to let you use the bathroom twice between now and when I wake up in the morning. You may use them whenever you want, and without asking me."

Bucky nodded.

"Now, it's time to get undressed and into bed. I want you to sleep well tonight." 

He obeyed, folding his clothes neatly as he stripped before crawling onto the mattress and under the blankets and sheets he'd just organized. Steve winced; he hated that mattress, and he hated it more having slept on it for the last few nights. He'd have to replace that soon, if Bucky intended to sleep on it for much longer. It was probably better than a floor, but not by much. 

Already, Bucky's eyes were closing. He gave Steve a final tiny smile as Steve went to his own bedroom. 

In his bedroom, Steve threw himself onto the bed. He was exhausted. This whole thing was exhausting, and emotional, but he was probably on the right track. Bucky had eaten twice today, and his hair was clean. He'd  _ hugged Steve's knees _ in happiness at being tied to the bed at night. Steve ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the bridge of his nose absently. 

Tomorrow, he had to go back to work. But he'd instruct Bucky on the things he wanted him to do in the morning. He fell asleep, mind racing with ideas on how to make this as painless as possible for both of them. 

 

*

 

Steve had left Bucky with two books, and a recipe for dinner and instructions on how to cook it, when he'd left in the morning. It was plain rice, chicken and broccoli for Bucky, and a risotto for Steve. Simple enough, and hopefully wouldn't overwhelm him. It didn't seem like a lot to do, but he didn't really know what else he could ask Bucky to do. He was still too nervous to introduce Bucky to anyone, and his apartment was kind of boring. 

He went to work, pretending to still be struggling with the flu he'd spent the rest of the past week feigning. He had never been one to fake illness, but he'd been ill enough times in his life that he knew how to make it convincing. As it was, none of his coworkers blinked an eye beyond asking him if he was okay and commenting that he looked like crap. 

Which, rude. Steve had slept incredibly well, and it appeared that Bucky had as well. He'd been awake and kneeling by the time Steve had all but crawled from his bedroom, the bed neatly made below him. His eyes had been bright and his expression still a semblance of happy. When Steve had asked if he'd slept okay, Bucky had nodded with enthusiasm. So with a sleepy grumble, Steve had asked if he knew how to make oatmeal (he did), and then instructed him to make said oatmeal, and a coffee, while Steve showered. It had been good, and Bucky had seemed thrilled to have something to do. 

And the oatmeal? Delicious. He could keep doing that one, Steve decided. He wondered how Bucky did with omelettes. 

He spent most of the day fretting about Bucky, sporadically broken up by moments of actual work, and lots of it. He had almost a week of shit to catch up on. 

On the way home, he stopped by his favorite adult store. It meant taking a different train, and having to go back out to Broadway Junction to get back on his line, but the store was always worth the trip. And it was especially worth it today. There, he took his time pawing over various collars. He wanted soft, supple leather, not too thick, and weighty. He was tossing up between two, and in the end bought the one that wasn't lined with fur. If Bucky was going to be wearing it constantly, he figured that the fur-lined one risked itching. 

By the time he got home, it was dark. That wasn't saying a lot, given the season, but still. He felt bad for getting home so late, particularly because he wasn't sure what state he'd find Bucky in. 

But Bucky was fine. Dinner was ready and sitting on the warming setting in the oven, and Bucky was kneeling at the front door, looking just as happy to see Steve as he had been that morning. There was a hint of pride in his face, but he didn't move when Steve stepped inside. Steve couldn't believe the difference in just one day. There was comparatively little fear, and he looked brighter, healthier somehow. 

"Hey pal," Steve said, hanging his coat over the hook beside the door. "How was your day?" He stopped, frowning to himself. "I mean, did you have a good day?" He ran a hand over Bucky's head, rubbing gently at his scalp. Bucky nodded in answer to his question, making a little humming sound in the back of his throat. "Dinner smells great. Have you been waiting there all afternoon?" 

Bucky shook his head. "Just since you thought I might be home?" He'd told Bucky approximately when to expect him, and he was only off by about half an hour. Bucky nodded, following him into the kitchen. The crawling was… still taking some getting used to, but Bucky was quick and almost delicate at doing something that Steve had no idea could be as such. He tried not to think about how he might have become so good at it. 

They ate soon after that, Steve ravenous and just wanting to decompress from the day. He felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and whilst it was nice to be home with Bucky (and god, it still hadn't sunk in that  _ Bucky _ was  _ back _ ), there was still a heavy weight of responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Bucky needed medical care, to see a psychologist or some kind of trauma counsellor, but until Steve could be sure they wouldn't report back to Pierce… 

Once he'd set aside his meal, and Bucky had finished picking at his, Steve turned around in his chair to face him more fully. The collar sat in his bag near the door, as were the heavy bolt cutters he'd acquired. 

"Bucky, please go get my bag," Steve instructed, rolling the sleeves of his business shirt back up. 

Bucky hastened to obey, the soft swish of his sweatpants against the floorboards indicating his quick movements. He returned with it shortly, bag balanced on his back. Steve cocked his head at it; that was somewhat ingenious actually. Steve took the bag off him once he was close enough, and Bucky knelt back on his pillow again. 

He pulled the bolt cutters out, settling the bag on the table for now. 

"Okay, time to get rid of these fuckers," Steve said, indicating Bucky's cuffs. Bucky's eyes widened, expression stricken. He went from playful and a little peaceful to scared and anxious again. "Don't worry, I have something for you in the bag. But if you're going to be  _ mine _ I don't want you wearing anything that indicates you used to belong to someone else." It was so One Twue Way-ish that Steve wanted to barf in his mouth, but he pushed on. "Now, please give me your hand."

Hand trembling, eyes nearly closed, Bucky reached one of his hands forward. Steve took his forearm gently and lay it across his lap. He hadn't really used bolt cutters before, but he'd Googled it on the way home and it didn't seem that hard. With one (surprisingly) easy movement, he cut through the shiny silver band on Bucky's wrist, and then the other side. One half of the heavy metal dropped to the ground with a clunk. Bucky withdrew his wrists without permission, but seemed so overwhelmed that he didn't seem to realize what he'd done. He clutched his naked wrist to his chest, breathing a little faster than before. 

Steve did the other wrist, then went to the floor for the ankles. Finally, the two hardest were left. He wanted to save the collar until last, but he was a little nervous about cutting the cage off him with how badly he was trembling. 

"Okay, I'm going to need you to try and hold real still," Steve said once Bucky's sweatpants were at his middle thighs. Bucky nodded, staring at the ceiling. He became so still that it unnerved Steve. There was something discomforting about having a tool so close to Bucky's genitalia and him seeming no more frightened than when he was cutting the cuffs off. Then again, Steve had seen the porn, knew the things that HYDRA had subjected him to… Steve had to breathe through the anger, stop his own hands from trembling. He had to focus on the task at hand, not HYDRA. His eyes zeroed in on a raised pinkish-white mark just inside his right hip bone. It looked like a skull over octopus legs surrounded by a circle. He frowned at it, stomach flipping at the idea of HYDRA branding him. No, no, he had to focus on the task at hand. 

He felt weirdly detached, yet deeply awkward and embarrassed about handling Bucky's genitals, trying to figure out the best way to cut the heavy metal cage off. Eventually, he figured out the right spots and very, very fucking carefully, sure that he wouldn't so much as graze the skin, he snipped. Shifted again, snipped there too. The cage loosened and he carefully eased it away, taking pains not to look at Bucky's now naked cock. It had remained soft, and smaller, the whole time, and once Steve had the cage off he realized there were little spikes on the inside. He gripped the cage in his shaking fist, wishing he could crush it with his bare hand. Alas, he might have been stronger than he used to be, had bulked up significantly since high school, but he still wasn't strong enough to break the metal. It cut into his hand painfully with his tight, shaking grip.

Bucky was trembling slightly, and Steve rested a hand on his shoulder, hoping it was soothing. 

"Alright bud," he started, voice soothing. "Collar time." Bucky swallowed visibly, eyes downcast, but nodded and swept his curtain of hair back out of the way. Steve eased himself back into the chair so that he had better access to the collar, and fingered the heavy round metal at his neck. His collar and cuffs had been nice, and had it not been for who put them there and the things that they implied, he might have liked them. They were all heavy, solid steel rings, rounded edges and highly polished. Little D-rings were attached to all of them, even the cock cage. They were beautiful, the kind of thing Steve could appreciate and had he been into 24/7 might have even liked… 

Bucky shifted nervously from knee to knee, biting his lower lip but tipping his chin back just enough to give Steve full access. It was a thicker metal than the rest of them had been, but he cut it in half. When he pulled the lower half of the ring away, Bucky gave a sob, gasped as he tried to hold it in, eyes squeezed shut. Steve put both halves of the metal on the table, feeling panic surge through him. 

Were these happy tears? Distress? Relief? All of the above? He knew submissives often became attached to their collars, had read fascinating articles about how they'd had to be forcibly removed after accidents, or for surgery, and the distress at how bereft they felt. Even if Bucky hadn't liked Pierce and HYDRA, he'd still been attached to his collar. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You can cry. You don't have to hold it in…" Steve said, wanting to reach out and pull him into a hug, but not sure if he should leave Bucky to mourn in peace. Bucky's still-too-skinny frame shook with held back sobs. "Do… Do you want a hug?" 

Bucky froze, chest spasming slightly, staring at the ground as he contemplated Steve's question. Finally, he nodded, and shifted forward the remaining foot between him and Steve's chair. He cautiously, so very cautiously and so very slowly, rested his head against Steve's thigh, but didn't otherwise provide contact. Steve shimmied forward, and bent forward, wrapping an arm around Bucky's shoulders. The angle was awkward, but Bucky gave another chesty sob and Steve knew it was the right thing. He held Bucky as he cried, staying mostly silent except to offer reassurance and comfort where he could, rubbing at his knobbly back through Steve's thin t-shirt. 

His insides felt torn apart. He had thought he was doing the right thing, but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe only time would tell. If Bucky wanted to go back, he could. Steve wasn't forbidding him from leaving, and he knew that there was some pretty heavy conditioning in Bucky that prevented him going even if he wanted to. But Steve was going to get him back to a state where he  _ could _ choose, and knew he could choose either way without fear of dangerous repercussions. 

Eventually, slowly, the sobs eased, and Steve sat back enough to give his back a reprieve, and instead stoked at Bucky's sweat-damp hair. Bucky sat back slowly, going to rub at his face with his hands, seeming to overestimate the distance and missing initially. 

He stopped short, stared at his naked wrists, expression mixed. Finally, he gave a small laugh, and then another sob. Steve was confused and - oh! He was used to the weight on his wrists and now they felt too light. The metal  _ had  _ been heavy, just enough for things to feel unbalanced now, like the first day after a haircut. 

Steve laughed too, ruffling Bucky's hair. "Bet that feels real weird now, hey?" 

Bucky nodded, laughing wetly. Even through the sobs, Bucky's laugh was still the best thing he'd ever heard. 

Steve felt a pulse of sadness and loss go through him. God, he'd been so stupid. How could he have missed the fact that he was completely, utterly in love with Bucky all these years? He'd felt it more times than he could count, from the day they'd met, but over and over had convinced himself that being in love with Bucky was a fool's errand, a surefire way to end the friendship. He'd been ready to say "fuck it all" and tell Bucky, had finally reached a point that he couldn't hold it back any longer, but then he'd disappeared and so too had his dreams of the future. 

The pain of the last four years rushed back to him… He'd been so lost without Bucky, so confused when it happened. It had been a simple text message the day after their first and only play, a  _ Don't contact me again. Don't try to find me. Just… don't, Steve.  _

Steve hadn't bought it, had been sure it was drop or something. Sometimes that was delayed for him, maybe it was for Bucky as well. But when he'd gone to Bucky's apartment, it had been empty. He and Natasha had looked. Bucky's parents, who'd received a similar message, had joined them. Bucky had been so close to them, to Steve, and none of them had seen something like this coming. God, it had felt like they'd turned the city upside down. But Natasha had found out that Bucky was still doing his job, albeit remotely, and because that was still happening, he was not considered a missing person. He just wasn't able to be found  _ by them.  _ Which, knowing Natasha, was saying a lot. 

He came back to himself, unable to stop the rueful smile from crossing his face. He wasn't finished. 

"I got you something," Steve said, hunting through his satchel for the little velvet bag. He didn't know why it came as such, but he figured it was a nice touch. He handed the little bag over to Bucky, who carefully opened it, expression blank. He gave another tiny, hopeful grin when he pulled the soft leather out, stroked the inside of it absently. 

"Thank you, Steve." He had to clear his throat before he spoke, voice rough from lack of use. His eyes were soft and happy. Bucky looked between the collar and Steve and with obvious nervousness, held it up for Steve. Steve took it with a grin, and put it around Bucky's neck, keeping it loose enough for comfort. He then attached the shitty little lock that had come with it; he could probably pick it with tweezers, or hell, snap it with his bare hands. But the security of the lock wasn't the point. Like the rope used for tying Bucky to the bed at night, it was the message that it sent and the security he hoped it gave him. 

"Each time you shower, I want you to come to me and ask for its removal. As soon as you've finished showering and are dried off and dressed, come to me and I will put it back on. Other than that, I want you to wear it at all times."

Bucky nodded, giving a little smile. And Steve had hope, finally.

 

 

Feeling lighter than he had in weeks, years even, Steve left Bucky in the living room and threw himself on his bed. He just needed some time to process, you know? 

He rolled over and grabbed his phone from where he'd left it on to charge. It was blinking with a message from Natasha. She was probably just checking in, or something. It was a link to a news article, and frowning, he opened it. 

**_New York Psychiatrist Arrested on Cult Charges_ **

Steve dropped the phone on his face in shock, cursing and yelping quietly in pain. He pulled the phone back, sitting up to read it, as if that made him absorb the words any faster. 

_ An ongoing federal investigation into "sex cult" HYDRA has come to a head, with federal police arresting at least six people today. HYDRA "Master" is one, retired psychiatrist Alexander Pierce. In the house was evidence to suggest human trafficking, selling of illegal sexual services, and money laundering.  _

_ Further details to come. _

Steve dialled Natasha right away, heart racing. 

She picked up after a few rings.

"What the fuck?" Steve snapped, shock, and anger, and fear and frustration surging through him all at once. 

" _ I know, I'm as unhappy about this as you are. I was hoping we'd have a little more time. _ " From the tinniness of her voice he guessed she was driving, no doubt trying to break some land speed record. 

"What? You didn't have anything to do with this?"

" _ No, Steve, I didn't. _ " She sighed audibly, seeming to hem and haw over her words, a very non-Natasha thing if he ever heard one. " _ You know my work is classified, and I'm not going to risk losing my job to appease you. But let's just say that this is the last damn thing I wanted to happen right now. _ "

Steve took the phone away from his face, frowning at the screen in confusion, before returning it. "Then wha-,"

She cut him off, voice snappy. " _ Because James's passport, birth certificate, everything was found at the house and they're looking for him. _ "

The back of Steve's neck went cold; the rest of him followed quickly. "Fuck, that makes sense. They had all of it? Fuck. And they're going to come- and. Fuck.  _ Fuck! _ "

" _ I know. _ "

Steve pinched the bridge at his nose, headache coming on. His good mood was utterly ruined, and his mind raced. Fuck, they had all of that on Bucky. Did he have to take Bucky in? Was Bucky safe? The hospitals weren't safe; were the cops? 

"So what now?' Steve asked after a long silence. 

" _ I'm coming to you. We'll work things out from there. But until I say, don't leave the house, don't… don't move. As far as my intel goes, nobody knows where Bucky is. Let's keep it that way. I'll be there in… fourteen minutes. _ "

The line beeped and when Steve drew his phone away again, it was back to his normal home screen. 

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. Bucky was not going to like this at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings again for this chapter. A victim facing his abuser, thoughts of self-harm and actual, but.... in a weird complex way. And I guess being in Bucky's head and expecting violence and cruelty from Steve (which in turn implies some more of his treatment from HYDRA). Mentions and stuff of gaslighting. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter - some of my favourite bits in the whole story are in here :D

The slave… Bucky? …  _ the slave _  felt raw. Happy, yes, but raw. His wrists and ankles felt wrong; he hadn't thought of his cuffs as heavy, but being without them felt strange, like he was so light he might float away. But he couldn't float away; he had a new collar securing him. It wasn't heavy, and he didn't like that he'd have to take it off for the shower, but it was  _ his _  and it was a gift from Steve.

He liked Steve. Steve was always nice to him. He wasn't sure why, but that was okay. Maybe the slave was just being obedient. Maybe the slave was doing a good job. The slave liked doing a good job. The slave liked pleasing Steve.

Steve… Hmm. Steve seemed familiar. Maybe he'd come to Master's home before. After all, why else would Master have let him leave, if not with someone that He trusted? The slave was selfishly glad he wasn't with Master anymore. The slave slapped himself across the face, hard. The slave was not permitted to think such things about Master, even if he had a new one now. Master would  _ know _  his thoughts, Master always did. Even far away, Master could probably hear his thoughts. Master would have been proud of him for punishing himself for thinking such a thing.

But Steve's house was warm, and the slave had a bed to sleep on each night. Steve tied him to the bed last night so he didn't leave. Steve wanted to keep him. Maybe the slave  _ was _  a good boy. Steve fed the slave too, even if he hadn't been sure that it wasn't a punishment at first. Food had made the slave so sick, and it scared the slave. Some nights he missed his slop, but most of the time he didn't.

The slave tidied up the kitchen. Steve had liked his dinner, and had given him a new collar, and then asked him to clean up. The slave had been more than happy to! He wanted to throw himself at Steve's feet and kiss them to show his thanks. The slave wondered if there were letters bigger than capital letters for Steve's name in his head. It felt like Steve deserved more than just one capital letter. Master used to say that if there were smaller letters for the slave, he'd use them, but alas there were not. And then Master and his friends would laugh. The slave didn't really understand, but that's okay because the slave was stupid and dumb, Master always said so.

The slave didn't like Master. The slave slapped himself again. He was getting into bad habits, and Master was going to find him and punish him. He didn't want that. He wanted to stay with Steve.

Because Steve was nice. Steve didn't laugh at him. Steve called him good. Maybe the slave could be a good boy for Steve.

He had just finished wiping the water off the sink with a towel when Steve came storming into the kitchen, face angry. The slave dropped to his knees instantly, knowing without question that that face meant he was in trouble. He had to be good, he would be good for Steve, he wouldn't be bad, please just don't get rid of him.

But no blow came, no kicks, nothing.

"Bucky, get up," Steve said, voice harsh. The slave was too scared to look up. He knew better than to disobey a direct order like that. He knew better than to disobey anything that even looked like it could potentially be an order. He scrambled to his feet, glancing up at Steve. That was a mistake. He would not look at Steve. Eye contact was sometimes a sign of disrespect, wasn't it? He couldn't remember. Master changed his mind too often on that one, and sometimes he wondered if Master did that to trick him into being punished. The slave slapped himself again for even allowing that errant thought into his mind.

"Bucky, stop!" Steve said. "Bucky, look at me."

The slave knew his title, knew he had to look. Steve looked upset, but the slave couldn't figure out why. Maybe he had heard what the slave had thought. Maybe he didn't think he slapped himself hard enough, even though the slave's face throbbed.

"I'm… I'm not even going to ask right now…" Steve said, shaking his head. His face was confused and upset but the slave continued to not understand. If he slapped himself again, would Steve be happy with him? Without even thinking about it, the slave brought his hand up to his face again to slap it, but Steve caught his wrist.

"No. No slapping yourself, ever.  _ Ever _ ." Steve's voice was authoritative, and strong, and the slave didn't dare question it. He felt his eyes widen and his body suddenly seemed much weaker than it had a moment before. Steve didn't want him to hurt himself in punishment? Maybe… Maybe Steve had heard the thoughts about Master but maybe he agreed with him maybe. Maybe. It was all very confusing for a dumb, stupid slave like him. He was supposed to let the Owners make the decisions, and do the thinking. The slave was just there for their amusement and convenience.

"Oh no, oh no, please, Bucky, it's okay. You're a good boy. You're a good boy, I didn't mean to scold." And then he was being pulled into big, strong arms, so warm. The slave didn't know what was happening. His head was spinning a little, and he was breathing harder, and things were moving funny and… Steve was warm. Steve felt secure and safe. Steve was there. The slave would be okay.

The world felt a little more stable, only to be jolted away soon after when Steve lurched back.

"Shit, I'm sorry, pal. I shouldn't have hugged you without asking." Steve kept his hands on the slave's shoulders though, warm and strong. The slave wanted to lean into the touch but that wasn't allowed. A slave was not permitted to want, particularly not the touch of his Owner. "Do… Do you want me to hug you?" Steve asked, looking at something on the slave's face. Was there something on his face? He wanted to bring his hand up and check but he didn't have permission.

Steve pulled him into another hug, and the slave sagged against him a little. He liked the touch; the touch was  _ so good _ , better than hot chocolate (what was that? He… he knew it was something good but he couldn't remember what it was…), better than bed and hot water. He never wanted to let go of Steve, never wanted to be let go.

"I'm real sorry, Buck, but Natasha is going to be here any minute. Are you going to be okay with seeing her?"

Steve's voice was soft beside his head, and his breath moved the hair at his ear, tickling it. It felt weird. He didn't know who Lady Natasha was. Was that going to be another of his Master's friends? Was that someone going to steal him from Steve? He didn't want to leave Steve!

The slave nodded despite himself. He didn't know Lady Natasha but Steve said he wasn't going to be hurt again. Maybe that was just a game; sometimes Master had done something similar to him. Sometimes he liked to pretend a punishment was over, only to trick the slave. He said he liked seeing the slave cry like that. It was only because he was a bad slave that the punishments had to continue. If this was another punishment, then the slave no doubt deserved it. But if he said that he wasn't okay with seeing Steve's friend he would  _ certainly _  be punished.

"Okay, good… Good… I mean she-," there was a knock on the door then, and both of them jumped in surprise. "That'd be her." Steve squeezed the slave's shoulder again. "I won't let anything happen to you, no matter what, okay?" The slave didn't say anything, but it seemed that Steve was waiting for an answer so he nodded. He wasn't sure how he felt about lying to Steve because he didn't believe him. But he had to be a good boy.

Steve left the kitchen and the slave panicked. The slave was supposed to answer the door, wasn't he? Steve wasn't supposed to do that. The slave had failed, the slave had failed, the slave was going to get cell time again. The slave hated cell time. He hadn't seen Steve's cell, but given how small his apartment was he knew the cell would be tiny, and probably cold because the apartment was so warm.

"Hello James," a tiny redhead said from the door. She… also looked familiar. Like Steve, she was probably another associate of his owner. The slave didn't often remember things anyway, so it didn't surprise him that he couldn't remember her exactly. He'd likely pay for it later when he got something about her wrong. Then he'd remember, no doubt.

The slave didn't say anything, fearing what would happen if he spoke. But Lady Natasha didn't seem to expect it of him.

"Please make me a black tea, steeped for at least four minutes, then come into the living room." She glanced over at Steve. "He'll have chamomile, steeped for the same length of time. Thank you, James."

She turned on her heel and walked out of the small kitchen, her heels clicking delicately on the wooden floors.

"Natasha!" Steve hissed at her. "You can't just boss him around like that!"

The slave didn't hear her answer, her voice a low murmur, but he didn't mind. He liked orders. He knew what to do with those. Steve had an old kettle beside the stove, and he'd boiled water in it earlier but it had mostly gone cold. He set about getting the tea made, finding peace in the process. He didn't know what Steve and Lady Natasha had in mind for him, but if he made the tea perfectly then he might manage to avoid the worst of their wrath.

Over the soft hiss of the gas stove, he heard them talking. He didn't really pay much attention though; it was not his business to know what Masters discussed. Instead, he focused on the mantras he'd been told to say every day for the last… How long had it been? He couldn't remember anything from Before so it was hard to be a judge of time. He knew things, knew that this was America, knew what a stove was. He knew how to make tea. But… Had he had a family? Had he always been with Master? Had this always been his life?

He wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure what he believed, and that scared him. He was scared that if he thought of Before, that he might remember something that he wasn't supposed to remember. He was scared that if he thought of the Before, that Master might know and doubt his abilities to be a good slave, and punish him. If he thought of the Before, then he wasn't truly committed to being a good slave. And he wanted nothing more than to be a good slave. Well, that's what he thought anyway. That's what Master had always told him. Master had said he'd always wanted to be a good slave, the best slave, and that if he just worked a little harder he might be able to.

Bucky wasn't sure what he wanted; he just knew he didn't want to hurt, and he wanted Steve to put his arms around him again. That had been nice.

The kettle began to whistle and Bucky moved quickly, twisting the knob so that the sound wouldn't disturb Steve. He would be a good boy, and Steve would be happy with his tea and say "thank you, Bucky,", like his name was a special secret between them. His name? Oh no… _Oh no no no_. He realized with horror how he'd been thinking, and was tempted to pour boiling water over his hands in punishment. He was not a person, he was the slave! He was Winter. He was… He was _the slave_ , he was not human. He was an asset, something that could be beautiful if he just did this one more thing for his Master. His hands on the kettle shook, and he had to fight with himself not to obey the voice, his Master's voice in his mind, telling him that he needed to punish himself. He didn't want to—oh god—not he. Not  _ he _ . The slave didn't want to, the slave didn't want to hurt his hands, but his Master wanted him to, right?

No, no, Steve didn't want him hurt. He, the  _ slave _  damnit, couldn't be hurt because if he was, then he couldn't be a good slave. Steve wanted a good slave. A good boy, a good slave.

He steeped the tea for exactly four minutes, watching the ticking clock over the sink as he steadied his harsher breathing. He was thirsty himself, but he hadn't been advised to drink anything so he wasn't going to tempt fate. Lady Natasha was an as-yet-unknown, and he didn't remember enough about her to risk anything. Was she more like Master Pierce or Sir Rumlow, or even Summer? Master had always been calculating, kind some days and cruel others. He rarely used violence. But Sir Rumlow was violent, not terribly creative, and laughed a lot. Summer was technically a slave like him, but she was permitted to punish him too; sometimes the slave thought she was the worst of the lot. What was Lady Natasha? Was she like them, or was she like Steve?

The slave brought the tea into the living room, where Steve and Lady Natasha were talking in hushed tones. Steve looked angry, his face flushed bright pink and his eyebrows knitted together. It made the slave nervous but he knelt beside the scrubbed coffee table, carefully setting Steve's mug on it, because he knew that was what Steve liked.

The slave was unsure about Lady Nastasha, and instead reverted back to his training with Master. The slave shuffled around to the other side of the table, directly in front of Lady Natasha, and held the mug up above his head, at her chest height. He held the mug steady, knew he could hold it until his fingers burned and then went numb from the lack of blood. Master had made the slave do this many times, until he could do it perfectly. The slave kept his eyes down, his breathing shallow so as not to disturb the drink and risk spilling even a drop.

Lady Natasha and Steve were silent as he waited. But very quickly, Lady Natasha took the tea from him, with a warm "Thank you, James."

The name confused the slave. The name 'Bucky' was confusing but it felt familiar. 'James' did not. Maybe he had been Bucky before; maybe James was like the name Winter, which Master had once called him. But then, over time, he'd stopped being Winter and had been an Asset, and finally just the slave, if he had a name at all.

"Fetch yourself your pillow and kneel there," Lady Natasha continued, resting her mug on her jean-clad knee. She pointed to the spot in front of Steve, which was just beside where his cushion was. He hastened to obey, grateful for the wooden floors allowing his sweatpants to slide easier. The carpets back with Master had always chafed his knees, no matter how long he was on them.

"Natasha!" Steve snapped, folding his arms across his chest and then unfolding them to rest a hand on the slave's head. "Stop ordering him around like that."

"Steve, he  _ needs _  it. Even you can tell, because you've completely changed your tactic." She smirked, eyes running over the slave. His skin prickled, and if he was unsure about their mind reading abilities before, he was certain now. The way she dragged those sharp eyes down his body made him feel like he was being slowly but surely looked through. 

"He's not  _ yours _  to order," Steve all but growled back. "He's mine." His hand on the slave's shoulder tightened, but not painfully so. It was good that it was grounding him, otherwise his chest might have exploded with joy. He was Steve's! He was Steve's! Did that mean he was nobody else's? Did that mean that he was a good boy? That he was special?

Lady Natasha leaned back against the arm of the couch, resting on her elbows. "Well, well." There was a strange smile on her face, one that the slave didn't understand but didn't scare him. It was just unusual. "If you say so. I apologize for stepping on your territory." She winked, which again confused the slave. He didn't understand these humans, but that was okay because he himself wasn't human, Master had said so. She gave the slave a smile, something that made him uncomfortable. Other than Steve, people only smiled at him when he'd done something very,  _ very _  stupid and he was about to be punished.

"I like your collar, James," was all she told him. The slave's hand went up to clasp his collar without thinking, before remembering he hadn't been told he was allowed to move. He quickly put his hand back down, but neither Steve nor Lady Natasha seemed to notice. The slave was probably supposed to punish himself. But to punish himself now would disturb their conversation, so he would do so later.

For now, Lady Natasha looked back at Steve, expression serious. "So I'm going to need you and James to come in tomorrow. I'd have you in there tonight if I could but I doubt anything has been processed so you'd just be waiting around for hours."

"We're not doing it.  _ He's _  not doing it."

"Steve, if you don't come in willingly, they will find you and charge you with obstruction. And then they'll take James and put him in an institution. You don't know what they're like, but I do."

The slave was confused but what else was new?

"He doesn't  _ need _  an institution!" Steve argued, fingers this time biting into the slave's shoulder. It hurt but it was nothing that the slave couldn't handle. Lady Natasha raised one perfect eyebrow but was otherwise silent. The only sound in the room for a long while was the gentle ticking of the clock from the kitchen. Finally, Steve sighed, shoulders slumping. He removed his hand from the slave's shoulder, and the slave had to fight not to make a sad whining sound at the loss. He wanted the hand back.

"He doesn't need an institution. But he  _ does _  need help," Steve finally relented.

"I know." She sighed as well and leaned forward. The slave thought she looked tired suddenly, as if something had been stripped from her face. "You've done well, given the circumstances. He looks clean, and fed. And not afraid. That's good. You did good, Steve."

Steve pulled the slave in a little closer, so that he was leaning against Steve's shins. The slave wanted to wrap his arms around his legs, hold on and not let go, but he didn't. Instead, he just allowed Steve to absently tug at his hair, rubbing at his scalp as he'd become prone to do.

Lady Natasha sighed, taking a careful sip of her tea. She looked at the slave and gave him a small smile. "You made this perfectly, thank you." Her sharp eyes returned to Steve. "We've got most of them, at least, the big names. Apparently they're closing in on the final ones. It's not how I would have done it, but it's out of my hands now. The best I can do is stop SHIELD descending on you and making life infinitely harder than it needs to be."

"Does… SHIELD know you're here?"

She fixed him with a look that implied he might be stupid. Something bristled inside the slave; Steve was smart, thank you! "Of course," she said. "What, Steve? You just show up at SHIELD tomorrow with Bucky? How else would you have known about this?"

"The news?"

Lady Natasha gave an indelicate snort. "You may be pretty, but you're as dumb as you look."

"Hey!"

"Yes, they know I'm here. They gave me twenty-four hours to get you into SHIELD before they'd come and find you themselves. They're gracious that way."

The slave was confused, unsure what was happening. Steve was bristling, anger emanating off him. "Why do they need him? Refresh my memory."

"They have all his documents for one. They've got all the videos that HYDRA have made. There is so much that I simply cannot tell you, but I can tell you, James is going to be absolutely integral to this."

Steve's hand was removed from the slave's shoulder, and he ran both hands over his face, sighing loudly. "Promise he won't be hurt?"

"Steve-,"

" _ Promise _  he won't be hurt? Won't be taken away?"

"You know that I can't. I'm not in charge. But there's no  _ reason _  for them to do that if you just bring him in."

Above him, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders squaring and making him look even broader than he was. It was an impressive image if nothing else.

"Fine. I'll bring him in. But I'm walking him the hell out the first sign that they're gonna hurt him. He can barely talk, I don't see how they're going to get a statement!"

Lady Natasha gave a tight smile. "They have their ways. But that's a fair request. I'll do my best. Bring him in tomorrow morning. I'll text you the details." She stood abruptly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go. Lots of paperwork to do. Among other things." She nodded at the slave. "Thank you for the tea, James. Steve."

She left the apartment almost as quickly as she'd arrived. Her tea had barely been touched, but if he'd made it poorly she would have simply poured it over him. Masters liked to do that. You learned quickly that way, they said.

Steve leaned forward, elbows to knees, burying his face in his hands. The slave didn't dare move, didn't know the right thing to do here. So he just waited for Steve to move, to tell him something.

"It'll be okay, pal," Steve said, voice muffled by his hands. "I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you." He pushed himself into a more upright position, petting the slave absently again. The slave didn't mind if they hurt him, as long as that was what Steve wanted. He would let Steve do things to him if he wanted. He sat up a little further. "Could you take the mugs back to the kitchen and wash them up, please?"

The slave hastened to obey, glad to have something to do. He was still confused by the whirlwind visit of Lady Natasha, of why Steve was so sad. Maybe the slave had done something bad. The slave washed the cups up carefully, quickly. It was already late, and he needed to be prepared for whatever Steve may ask of him. It did him no good to dilly-dally; never keep a Master waiting, ever.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, he really did, but he kept staring into the running water, lost in a maze of thoughts and confusion. He kept losing time, not afraid of anything but not really sure what he was thinking either. That happened a lot though, usually when he was with Master Pierce, sometimes with Sir Rumlow too. The slave didn't know who scared him more; Master Pierce or Sir Rumlow. Sir Rumlow liked to laugh a lot but he had a temper. Master Pierce never yelled, never really did anything physically violent, but it was his face that plagued the slave's nightmares. Master Pierce was in a league of his own.

The slave tried not to think about how Master would react if he came back. No, the slave decided. The slave was  _ never _  going to go back. The slave would sooner die than ever go back to Master.

The slave slapped himself again, the behaviour instant and unconscious. He was not permitted to think such thoughts. The slave was lucky to have Masters who wanted him. If the slave didn't enjoy their treatment then maybe the slave needed to be better, to do better. Master only punished him to teach him, and sometimes for his entertainment. The slave was an object, something to amuse and use, and he was lucky that he had such caring Masters. If they didn't care about the slave they would continue to let him be useless, rather than trying to teach him not to be so worthless.

The slave gave himself another slap for good measure, eyes watering again, his wet hands making the slap sting more.

"Bucky, no!" Steve said loudly from the kitchen door. The slave hadn't noticed him there and slapped himself again for not noticing. It was the slave's duty to be aware of his Owner, to ensure he was a good object and available at all times. If he didn't know where his Owner was, how could he best serve him?

"No!" Steve admonished again, voice harsh. He crossed the tiny kitchen quickly, grabbed the slave's thin wrist to prevent him from doing it again. The slave wanted to shrink away, hide. He had made his Owner angry, upset! Owner was angry at him! Owner was going to hurt him, or worse… Owner was going to leave him! He was just a dumb slave; how was he supposed to get by without his Owner? He wanted to throw himself at Owner's feet, promise that he'd be good.

The slave went to slap himself again with his other hand, tried to show Owner he was sorry, that he was self-correcting his bad behaviours. He would be a good boy for Owner, and Owner would never need to punish him because he was such a good slave. Owner could keep him if he was good. Owner would-

"Bucky, no, stop, stop! That's an order!"

The slave stopped abruptly, physically incapable of continuing even if he wanted. And oh, he wanted. But the slave had been trained not to disobey direct orders and all the strength in the world couldn't break that response in him. He stood, helpless, as Steve grabbed his other wrist and held him still. The moment stretched, the silence painful. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, what had been loud-intense-LOUD-INTENSE in his head vanished, leaving the ticking clock, quiet breathing and the distant wail of a siren outside.

"What are you doing?" Steve's voice was harsh but his face was not angry. The slave did not know how to describe it because there was no fire in his eyes, but his mouth was unhappy. His inability to tell what kind of mood his Owner was in reaffirmed his belief that he was a bad slave, that Steve needed to get rid of him, that he needed punishment.

Punishment.

Punishment! Steve had asked the slave a question!

"Punishing, Master," the slave said, his voice small. He froze, realizing his slip-up. Steve didn't like to be called Master; now Steve  _ was _  going to punish him! "Teaching myself. Masters can hear thoughts, and if you have bad thoughts you must punish yourself to stop having those thoughts."

Steve's eyes widened and his hands on the slave's wrists loosened a little. "What? That? That is such  _ bullshit _ . What the actual fuck? I don't even know where to begin on just how stupid and fucked up that is!"

The slave had been trained not to show his fear, knew how to hold a neutral expression in even the most terrifying moments. He could feel himself zoning out, the familiar tingle that said he wasn't quite here but wasn't quite anywhere.

"Hey, hey, no, Bucky," Steve said, stepping in closer, hands tightening on his wrists again. His thumbs were stroking the insides, soothing and gentle. "Hey, I'm not mad at you, okay? I'm not mad at you." He released one of the wrists, and the slave's arm dropped limply to his side. Steve's hand went to the slave's face, cradling it. "Hey, stay with me, Buck. I promise, you're not in trouble. I'm angry at  _ them, _  not at you." He paused, gnawing at his lower lip. "Let's… let's go to the couch. I want you to help me understand."

The slave was still in that place, hovering between reality and elsewhere, like his mind couldn't quite decide where it wanted to be. But he nodded and silently followed Steve into the living room, kneeling on the cushion again. Steve looked tired, and the slave’s stomach twisted. If he were a good slave, Steve would be happy and well-rested and without concern. But instead, he wasn't, all because of the slave’s incompetence.

"Tell me more about this behaviour," Steve instructed. He wasn't touching the slave, which made him sad. "Why do you slap yourself?"

The slave blinked several times, trying to return himself enough to the real world that he could answer. He knew how to physically obey when he was elsewhere, but words were hard for him at the best of times. When he was elsewhere words were almost impossible. He wanted to tell Steve that words were hard, couldn't they play the nodding-shaking game?

When he spoke, his words were slurred. "Punishment. Masters not… always there. Slaves… behave. Slaves… good thoughts. Bad thoughts… and… behaviours… punished. Always punished. No bad behaviour… unpunished. How… how…" he sighed, the words hard to stumble over on his thick tongue. "How learn?" He finished lamely, sinking back into the soft fuzzy feelings of the other place.

"Do you punish yourself in other ways?"

The slave nodded.

"What do you do?"

The slave shrugged. He wanted to leave it at that but Steve had asked for more. "It… depends. On crime." He looked down at his hands; there were no scars there as the burns had been minimal. The point was that he'd punished himself appropriately to a Master’s satisfaction.

"Crime? Jesus fucking…" Steve said more to himself than the slave. He sank back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

Steve was silent, but the slave didn't know for how long. Time always passed strangely in this state. The slave didn't have a great concept of time anymore anyway. Anymore? What had it been like Before? The thought faded; he liked this space. It was safe, it was soft. Even pain didn't hurt much here, which sometimes frustrated the Masters if they wanted more screaming from him. He never really knew what the Masters wanted. Some days they wanted perfect silent obedience; sometimes they wanted screams. He had been a good slave at telling some things, but he'd never quite learned to predict what they wanted from him. He usually figured it out quickly though - the days that they wanted screaming, they just hurt him until he did, even through the soft place where nothing hurt.

"We have a new rule," Steve said, voice soft. He sat forward again, shuffling to the front of the couch. His fingers found the slave's face again, taking his chin gently and lifting his face to Steve's. The slave burned with shame; he'd forgotten about eye contact, always. He'd been too busy in his own mind that he'd forgotten one of the simplest rules. He almost brought his hand up to hit himself again, but Steve's hands were there. It would not do to hit Steve. The slave never wanted to hit Steve. He never wanted to hurt Steve.

Steve continued, interrupting the slave's minimal thought process. Steve's eyes met his and the slave found himself wanting to come back so he could see them more clearly. They were the kind of eyes that he  _ needed _  to be able to see clearly.

"From now on," Steve continued, seeming more sure that he had the slave's attention. "From now on, if you  _ ever _  think you need punishing, you tell me. And I will tell you the appropriate punishment. I will be the one to dole out your punishments. You are  _ mine _  and I don't like my belongings getting damaged. I take care of my possessions, and you, Bucky, are my greatest, most treasured possession." He swallowed visibly, rubbing at the stubble on the slave's chin absently.

The slave's heart was going to burst, he was sure of it. He was  _ Steve's greatest possession. He _  was  _ Steve's _  greatest possession! He can't have been that bad of a slave to earn that title. He wasn't just a thing; he was treasured! By Steve!

"Do you understand?" Steve asked. "No more punishing yourself. That is my job, and mine alone."

The slave nodded desperately, breath coming in a little faster. He was back, so very there in the real world. And he was  _ Steve's. _

 

*

 

The SHIELD headquarters were just another big building, like all the other big ones in Manhattan. But more horrible than the huge building were all the people. The slave hadn't been around this many people in a very long time, and he was frightened. Big sticks that buzzed with electricity scared him too, but that he understood. He didn't understand why there were so many people, even at this early hour.

Steve had him dressed in a big, thick sweater and a coat. It covered his collar, made him feel safe and warm. As Steve held his hand, leading him through the throngs, he had to fight the urge to flee. But where to? There was nowhere to run. Just like back with Master there had been nowhere to run, there was nowhere safe here. Steve's house was safe, but he didn't know how to get there. They'd caught the subway in that morning, but the slave didn't know the way, nor have his ticket. The subway had smelled like memories though, and he was sure he must have been there before. But when? He didn't know. Why? Even less of an idea.

Inside yet another nondescript Manhattan skyscraper, Lady Natasha appeared out of nowhere to join them. Despite the countless men and women in suits coming in the doors and heading directly for the shiny blue elevators, her heels sounded louder than anything in the lobby. Her hips swayed as she walked, and she had murder in her gaze; the slave was sure that if she wanted to, she could kill him with her pinky.

"Rogers," she said, cocking her head towards a set of elevators and heading towards them without even pausing to ensure that they were following. Steve dragged the slave towards the elevators, his hand tightening in the slave's. Lady Natasha swiped a card at her hip against the elevator, and it shut quickly, leaving them as the only occupants of the shiny metal box. The slave had to fight to breathe; it was cold and closed in. Steve's place was small but it didn't make him feel trapped. This elevator did. The slave didn't know why he felt like he was walking towards certain doom, but it did.

"This better work…" Steve muttered at Lady Natasha as they waited, watching the numbers fly by. The slave's stomach felt weird, like it was being left behind on the first floor.

"It will," Lady Natasha murmured, eyes sliding over them, their held hands. Something felt wrong, like again she was staring through him. The slave fought with the urge not to grab his collar in comfort, to prevent her stealing it or seeing something in it that he wasn't willing to let her see.

"And you promise nothing will happen to him?"

"You know I can't promise things like that, Steve. But this is our best chance, okay?"

Steve hummed a disapproving sound, and the slave shrunk back a little. He didn't like the idea that Steve was unhappy, even if he didn't really know what was going on. He really was a dumb little thing, wasn't he? He didn't know anything, other than the fact that Steve was mad.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and Lady Natasha led them onto a busy floor with lots of glowing lights and people in suits. They were all remarkably nondescript, with Lady Natasha and Steve being the most notable in appearance. That had to be on purpose though, even if he couldn't figure it out. Lady Natasha led them through the people, suited men and women moving out of their way as they went, none of them outright looking up at the threesome though.

Finally, they reached the other side of the floor, and were met with a series of doors. There were a lot of doors, all looking exactly the same as far as the slave could tell, but Lady Natasha just led them along a mostly empty hallway, around a corner, another corner. It had only been a standard skyscraper as far as the slave could tell, but now he wasn't so sure. Were all skyscrapers this big? It seemed unnaturally big to the slave.

And then she pulled them through another nondescript door into a dark room with lots of blinking lights and a big black glass wall. Only when the slave's eyes adjusted did he realize that there was a table and two chairs on the other side of the glass. Lady Natasha pressed a button among the many blinking ones, and a few moments later a door in the room beside them opened.

At the same time, their door opened and a man in a suit and another man in a long black (was that leather? The slave was sure that was leather and the slave was never allowed to be sure of anything) trench coat walked in. The man had an eyepatch and like Lady Natasha, the slave was sure he could kill him with a pinky. But unlike Lady Natasha, he seemed to have storm clouds around his head and a fiery energy that promised vengeance on all that surrounded him. Lady Natasha, on the other hand, was like ice, chilling and brittle. The man in the suit at least had a calmer energy about him, and didn't make the slave want to hide under the metal table between them.

"Romanoff, I see you found him," the Master with the eyepatch began, not looking at her but instead dragging his one eye up and down the slave. It made him uncomfortable, and again felt like he was being seen through, right down to the core of his being.

"I did, Sir," Lady Natasha said, hands locked behind her back and nodding sharply.

"Funny how that happened," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Lady Natasha hummed. "The important part is that we found him quickly."

"Uh huh," he said, walking closer to Steve and the slave, his own boots oddly quiet and muffled on the hard tiles. He moved slowly, with purpose and the slave had to fight with the urge to cower behind Steve. Master Pierce didn't let him cower though, so he remained still. He didn't have it in him to lift his chin proudly, nor lower his eyes. It seemed he didn't have to hide though. Steve subtly moved forward, putting himself between the one-eyed man and the slave, squaring his broad shoulders and jutting out his chin slightly. The muscle in his jaw moved. The slave blinked several times in confusion; why was that familiar?

"Mr. Barnes," the man said, eyes only barely flicking to Steve. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Nick Fury, director of SHIELD." The slave blinked at the Master, confused why he was being addressed. Slaves weren't addressed like this, not usually. He didn't know the name either, but maybe it was like with Steve, who always called him Bucky, or Lady Natasha when she called him James. It didn't make sense to him, but if it pleased the Masters then that was good enough for the slave.

"Sir," Steve said through what sounded like gritted teeth.

"I wasn't asking for your help," Master Nick said, eye still on the slave. "I was talking to Mr. Barnes here."

"He doesn't say much at this point," Steve argued, sounding on the edge of curt. "He's  _ afraid _ . And you're not helping." He stepped further in front of the slave, not even going for subtle now. His hand in the slave's was a little warm and damp with sweat, but he didn't seem like he was going to let go any time soon. The slave didn't mind at all, clinging to the hand.

"And he should be," Master Nick said, looming over both of them (a feat that might have impressed the slave were the situation not so terrifying; he was pretty tall, but this man was taller both in stature and intimidation). "He's associated with a group that's been human trafficking, money laundering, among other illegal activities." He staccatoed 'illegal activities'. The slave's hand clenched tighter, to the point he was shaking.

" _ He  _ was the one being used, not the one doing anything illegal! Look at him! Does this look like some hardened criminal?" Steve bristled, his voice a little raised but not enough to make the slave frightened of him. The slave hated shouting, usually because it was aimed at him. But Steve wasn't shouting at him, and he wasn't even shouting at Master Nick. It was okay, he was going to be okay. Steve would look after him.

"Criminals can look like a lot of things," Master Nick said mildly, still keeping his eye on the slave. The slave wasn't sure what he looked like, and he wasn't sure if he was a criminal. Master had always said he was dumb, and stupid, and useless; but a criminal? He wasn't so sure. It was probably another thing he'd done wrong, that Master had saved him from. Maybe that was why he couldn't remember things from Before. Because Master had stopped him being more of a monster.

Silence stretched around them, only a dull whir from some of the shiny machines on the wall making any sound. Master Nick kept staring at him, but Master had trained him well. The slave couldn't look away without permission. Eventually, it was Master Nick that broke away, glancing at the black mirror. There were two people on the other side now; the slave had seen it just as Master Nick and his suited friend had come in but had been so distracted by their entrance he hadn't paid any heed to who was entering.

The slave wanted to be sick. It felt like there was rushing around his ears. His head suddenly felt very full and cloudy, like someone had packed it with cotton wool. Everything went blurry and something in his chest hurt.

"Bucky!"

Master was here. Master was here. Master was going to take him away. Master was going to hurt him, to punish him. Master had heard his thoughts. It had all been a trap. Steve had been a trap. Steve hadn't been there to take care of him at all. This was some new punishment devised by Master… He wasn't safe. He wasn't okay.  _ He wasn't safe. _

"C'mon, Bucky!"

"Just slap him out of it, the shock will help."

"Don't you dare!"

Cloudy. Fuzzy. In and out. Where was he? No, no, Master couldn't take him away from Steve. Please, he'd be good. 

He'd do anything, he'd do anything.

"C'mon, Bucky, Buck. It's Steve. I'm here. You're safe, nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let anything happen to you."

His hands hurt. They gripped something soft, shaking hard with the force of it. His vision came in and out, fuzzy and then clear. Fuzzy and then clear. Steve's face was there. It was all he could see. Pale. Blue eyes. Pale. Pink mouth. Blue eyes. Long eyelashes. Long eyelashes. Long eyelashes. Blue eyes.

The slave felt sick. The… Oh, the world was swaying. Or was he swaying. There was something solid on his shoulders. When had he sat down? He wasn't on the ground; he wasn't supposed to sit! He was always supposed to be on the ground. Master was  _ right there,  _ didn't they know he'd be punished for this? But that was what they wanted. They wanted Master to punish him, that was why they were there. This was just another one of Master's games.

His face felt weird, unfamiliar, not his.

Steve. Steve right there. Blue eyes. Blue eyes, long eyelashes. Pale. Pale skin. Steve needed sunshine. Steve. Right there. Warm. Solid. Blue eyes.

"There… There we go, pal. There, c'mon, keep breathing like that. I'm so proud of you. Good boy. C'mon, squeeze my hand."

The slave obeyed, his fingers feeling not quite his own, and rubbery. But he wanted to be good for Steve. Maybe if he was good, they wouldn't punish him so badly. Maybe Steve would be nice to him.

"Good boy, good. I'm so proud. Now, can you look at me?"

The slave thought he had been, but he realized slowly that his eyes were closed. Upon opening them again, there was Steve. So close. Blue eyes. Long eyelashes. He blinked a few times, woozily trying to take things in. It hurt his head. He was sweating in his coat and sweater. His skin felt wrong. He wanted it gone.

No, looking at Steve. He had to look at Steve. Blink, blink. Steve. There was Steve. Steve, with a little smile to his mouth that didn't reach his eyes. Eyes creased. Eyes worried. Blue eyes.

"There… Good. Yep, just keep breathing. I  _ promise _ , he's never going to touch you again. Do you believe me?"

The slave didn't want to lie but he wasn't sure he did believe Steve. But he wanted to be good. Yet he couldn't lie. He settled for not moving. Eventually, Steve got off his knee and hugged him, warm and strong and smelling like  _ Safe Safe Safe _ . Some of the tension in his back eased, and his shoulders left their home around his ears. Was he? Could he be?  _ Safe Safe Safe. _

Finally, Steve drew back. The slave managed to stop himself whining. Steve grabbed his hand though, and the slave was sad it was his left hand. The left hand had less sensation, and the slave wanted to feel all of Steve. It was okay though, at least he was holding Steve's hands. It was warm, sticky, safe.

"Tell me again how he was aiding and abetting them?" Steve snapped, standing up and turning his attention to Master Nick. "Tell me that's the reaction of someone who was willingly involved."

Master Nick raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, instead turning to face the black glass again, looking at the men beyond it. Steve came back to the slave, bringing him in close and letting the slave rest his head against Steve's hip. He was practically vibrating, and when the slave risked a look up, he saw that Steve's face was splotchy and pink and angry. But he wasn't looking at the slave, so maybe he wasn't angry with the slave.

He was continuing to glare ahead, but the slave wasn't brave enough to do more than chance a quick look, and wasn't sure if he was glaring at Master Nick or at… Oh. At Master. Master was there. Again, the slave felt his breathing come in too fast, but Steve squeezed his shoulder. It didn't hurt, but served as a reminder that Steve was there, where he was. He couldn't… do what he did before.

"So I trust you and Mr. Barnes will be able to assist us in our investigation?" Master Nick said smoothly.

Steve frowned, gestured to the slave. "Did you just miss that reaction?"

"I did not. But that was to be expected given the situation."

The slave was sure he heard Steve's teeth squeaking as he visibly ground them. "Then  _ why _  do that to him?"

"Had to be sure that he wasn't on their side."

"Are you fucking  _ kidding _  me?"

"Easy, Steve," Lady Natasha murmured.

Steve's hand tightened around the slave's again. Finally, he sighed and relaxed a little. "What do you need from him?"

"We'll start with a statement. We might need him to appear in court as a witness, depending on a few things." Master Nick tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark pants. "We're going to take these fuckers down, and sure, we might be able to do it without you. But the case will be a hell of a lot stronger if you do help us." He paused, glancing behind the slave, probably at the others in the room. "And it won't be for free. If you agree to help us, we'll cover all his medical expenses, including regular therapy. I would say-," he dragged his eye up and down the slave, making his skin crawl, "-that he needs it."

Steve looked down at the slave, bringing him in close. The slave leaned against Steve's stomach, some tension easing out of his body finally. Steve was  _ Safe Safe Safe _ . More silence filled the room, but the slave didn't mind. He was pressed against Steve, and Steve was going to make sure Master never got him again.

"Fine," Steve snapped finally. "We'll help, but only to the point that it doesn't traumatise him further. And he stays with me for as long as he wants. And he gets that damn medical care."

"Done. Coulson, take Mr. Barnes here to Meeting Room 14 and take a statement."

"I'm going with him," Steve pushed.

Nick looked from Steve to Natasha, glancing only once at the slave. Eventually he nodded.

"Have it your way."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Another chapter! Thank you for all your comments thus far <3
> 
> No major warnings for this chapter (no more than the last one at least) but if you see anything you'd like warned for, please let me know. Have a great day! I'm super excited for tomorrow's chapter - it's a favourite of mine :)))))

Getting a statement out of Bucky was something akin to drawing blood from a stone. He didn't like to say much at the best of times, and despite the skills of the interviewer, he seemed frightened every time he opened his mouth. Eventually, they resorted to yes and no questions. Even those made Bucky's breath come in faster and sharper until eventually his eyes glazed over and he almost entirely stopped responding. 

The interviewer, a firm woman named Agent Hill, sighed heavily when that happened. She told him it wasn't uncommon for victims to respond like that, but it did unfortunately mean the interview was over. Bucky just blinked at her, as if she weren't really there. 

At least SHIELD paid for a cab home, so Steve didn't have to worry about getting a dissociated Bucky home on the subway in peak hour. They also gave him instructions to return the next day with Bucky to finish collecting the statement. The cab was honestly a terrible idea, given the sheer amount of traffic. It took over two hours for them to get home, but again, had to be better than the subway, right? 

At least there weren't people jostling them, subways too crowded to get into, and people pressed against them. Steve didn't know how he'd react to that, didn't really know how to deal with a dissociative episode. Steve had a vague idea of what those were but was flying blind. He'd done a few first aid courses at the local dungeons over time, but this was well above his skill level. He really needed to call Sam, or at least do a Google. Not having any better ideas, he just tucked Bucky under his arm until his fingers tingled from lack of blood flow; even then he kept his arm there out of sheer stubbornness. Bucky sat still and silent, only making little sounds in the back of his throat when he was moved by a particularly sharp turn the cab driver made. 

By the time they get home Bucky was a little more present, but not in any useful way. Small blessings were that Steve didn't have to all but carry him up the walkup, and was instead able to just lead him by the hand. But beyond that, he didn't seem to do much, just blinked owlishly at the world around him. Steve got him out of his outer layers and Steve's too-big boots and placed him on the couch with some water. Bucky drank on command but didn't check back in fully. 

Steve ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyeballs through his eyelids, and tried not to admit to himself that he might be out of his depth. Rather than thinking about that, he wrapped a blanket around Bucky's shoulders and went to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.  

He lost himself in making a rather bland mix of chicken, broccoli, and rice, kind of losing time himself. The sheer complexity and enormity of the situation twisted and turned in his mind, and even distracting himself wasn't helping right now. 

The good news was that by the time he entered the living room again Bucky was kneeling on his cushion, blanket still around his shoulders. He was watching the kitchen intently, eyes sharper and lacking the glassy expression from before. 

"Hey pal," Steve said, holding up the two steaming bowls before him. "Made dinner. Come join me." He remembered to make it an order rather than a question at the last moment. Bucky nodded silently, almost morose. He shuffled on his knees over to the table, dragging blanket and cushion with him. 

Steve placed the bowl down at his feet in front of Bucky, and hesitated before touching his hair. Bucky leaned into the touch, eyes closing. 

"You feeling okay?" The worry was evident in his voice despite his best efforts. 

Bucky nodded against his hand, but didn't say anything. Steve didn't know why he was hopeful that he would.  

Steve gave him a weak smile. "Glad to see you're back. I'm sorry today was so hard. I know I said I'd protect you; I feel like I let you down." Steve hadn't tried to think about it too much and had done a great job of distracting himself. But now, faced with Bucky before him, the words slipped out. The words always slipped out with Bucky. Well, not always. Not the most important words, anyway. 

He was shaken from his thoughts by Bucky shaking his head. He didn't say anything but he gave Steve a weak smile back. 

"Do… you have something you want to say?" Steve asked hesitantly. 

Bucky blinked a few times and then nodded, so slightly that Steve may have missed it if his hand weren't still on his head. He withdrew his hand, saw a flash of sadness cross Bucky's face before it became cool and neutral again. He put the hand back, and Bucky visibly relaxed. Touch. Touch was good, it seemed. The guilt that had been twisting Steve's stomach for hours eased, just a little. He couldn't have done that badly if Bucky still wanted his touch. Then again, after the things he'd learned over the last twelve hours, he wasn't sure Bucky knew what good and bad were anymore; would he know a kind hand from a cruel one? Yes, he did, Steve decided. His reaction to Pierce, his reaction to Steve, they were two different things entirely. Bucky _did_ know. 

"You did good, Steve," Bucky said, voice raspy with disuse. "You looked after the slave. Thank you, Steve." 

That shouldn't have impacted him as strongly as it did, but… Well, it did. Steve didn't want to face those feelings though and instead cleared his throat, looking away from Bucky's sweet expression and down at his bowl.

"Thank you, Bucky," Steve said, not allowing himself to look up and see Bucky's hurt expression. "You can eat now." 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky nod and then heard him carefully pick at his food, chewing slowly. As they ate, Steve realized he missed feeling Bucky against him, and shifted slightly in his chair. After a little more shifting, his leg was just lightly touching Bucky's shoulder. He heard what could only be described as a happy little sound from Bucky's throat, and felt Bucky press more firmly against him. 

Some of the ache inside him eased. 

 

*

 

The slave didn't like leaving the house, but leaving the house meant holding Steve's hand, so he supposed it was okay. He liked holding Steve's hand. Despite being almost as tall as Steve, Steve made him feel small and protected. Steve was safe. 

Last week Steve had taken him to a big building with lots of computers; the day after he'd taken him to another, this time with machines. He'd had needles pressed into his arm, been put into large machines that made loud sounds, and stood very still before giant flashing lights. It had been cold in the flimsy gowns they'd given him, and people had tried talking to him, not Steve. But worst of all, they'd had to remove his collar for a few hours. The slave didn't show his fear, his sadness, but he feared that without that mark of ownership someone might try to take him away from Steve. How would they know who he belonged to? 

But Steve had stepped in, asked him to sign a few things, and then Steve took over. He held the slave's hand where he could, reassuring him that he was only going to be in the next room, that he would be back soon. The slave nodded, let people in green and blue and sometimes purple usher him around. They'd moved his left arm around a lot, seemed very interested in it. The slave had some memory of it, of  _ painpainpain _ , and the pain never quite going away. It was weaker now, sometimes didn't grip so well and made things like tea slip, but the slave got by. They kept testing the arm, and the slave's mind had screamed in pain until Steve stepped in, insisting that that was enough. They'd been confused but seemed to see something in his face, and sheepishly relented. The slave had been scared he'd not been strong enough, but Steve reassured him he'd been a very good boy. And Steve knew best, was always right, so if Steve said the slave had been a good boy, then he had been a good boy. The slave would not question Steve's authority. 

After hours and hours, they'd been allowed to go home. It had been dark outside when they left, and Steve had taken him into a cab again, stomping on the pavement. His cheeks had been pink with anger. The slave didn't understand, but that was okay. The slave was holding Steve's hand so it was all okay. 

This week Steve took him to another building he didn't understand. This building was different from the others. There was carpet on the floor they got out on, and the hallway was so quiet that the slave could hear his own breathing. They reached a room with dark blue carpet, but it was weirdly soothing rather than dark and and discomforting like the darkness at the manor had been. The walls were pale green, the couches muted. And the office that he was taken into was oddly bare. The slave was used to lavishly decorated rooms, dark wooden bookshelves filled to the brim with matching series of books. This was not like that at all, but instead sparse, neat and tidy, with large couches and enormous squishy cushions. 

Master… Doctor… Banner… No, no, like Steve, he just wanted to be called by his first name, no Master, no Doctor, just Bruce.  _ Bruce  _ was a graying man that exuded calm. The silver in his hair made him look older than he was, the slave decided. His face was still young. The slave also decided that he liked Bruce and the silver in his hair. 

The slave sat outside in the waiting room, hands on his knees, back ramrod straight, while Steve went inside the office with Bruce. He didn't dare touch the magazines or books on the table beside him. He didn't dare drink water either; were the rules different outside of the apartment? The rules had always been different outside of the Manor, stricter. In the apartment, he had to ask Steve for water when he was home, but when he wasn't he had permission to drink as necessary. But what about when he was out with Steve, and Steve was in the next room? The slave didn't want to risk it, didn't want to risk embarrassing his Owner. He was thirsty, but he could wait. He'd waited for far longer. 

So instead, he just sat patiently. The slave was good at that. He was good at waiting, enduring, making his mind go quiet. The office was silent, even the sounds of the city outside not filtering in. Despite the lack of windows, the office didn't feel dark, nor did it have the stark brightness of the hospital. The light was warm, the temperature ambient. He drifted in and out, enjoying the stillness and peace, the only sound being his slow and careful breathing, the gentle thud of his own heartbeat in his ears. He wiggled his toes in his shoes to keep the circulation going, flexed his hands minutely, but otherwise remained perfectly still. The slave was good at this. The slave would be a good boy for his Owner. 

Eventually, Steve stepped out of the room, his hair messier than when he'd walked in, his shoulders a little slumped. Mas- Bruce… Bruce followed him out, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. 

"Come in, James." His voice was so gentle. The slave was reminded of Master, how his voice was gentle most of the time. The slave glanced at Steve, unsure. Was this man going to hurt him for Steve, the way that Sir Rumlow sometimes hurt him for Master? If that was what Steve wanted, then he'd do it. He wanted to be a good slave for Steve. 

Steve gripped the slave's shoulder, gave him a sad smile, and nodded. Something in the slave's heart hurt and his throat tightened; this  _ was _ going to hurt. Steve wouldn't have looked sad, otherwise. The slave squared his shoulders and raised his chin. The slave was going to be strong and brave and make his Owner proud.

"I'll be just out here," Steve told him just before the slave entered. The slave saw him grab a magazine and sit down in the space the slave had left, and then the door was closed again. 

When Bruce gestured for the slave to sit down, he did promptly, his spine jolting from how quickly he dropped. Bruce gave him a small smile, and sat down slowly himself, a small groan escaping his mouth as he eased himself into his own couch. His was a single-seater, but the same model as the two-seater the slave was on himself. It didn't loom, or make him seem any bigger. 

"Water?" Bruce asked, indicating the jug and small cups on the coffee table in front of them. 

The slave wasn't sure what the right answer was. He never knew what was a trap anymore. Sometimes the Masters did give him water before punishing him though; he always sweated or cried it out anyway. Eventually, he nodded, and Bruce poured him a glass, pushing it towards him. 

"You can drink, James," Bruce reassured him, leaning back in his chair and settling his large notebook on his crossed knee. He glanced over some of the notes in the book, glancing up at the slave over his glasses. The slave watched him carefully, taking some small sips of the water. It wouldn't do to have him vomit it over himself. This room had more light in it, had a big window between them. They were very high up, but all the slave could see out the window was the other skyscraper just across the road. He could hear the faint sounds of traffic now, but even those were muted. 

Eventually, Bruce looked up at him again. "This is going to be a little different to my usual style of therapy. I've dealt with a lot of patients with some similarities to you, but some things are going to be new for both of us. Steve explained to me that you don't really like talking, and that you appreciate being told what to do. Is that correct?"

The slave nodded. 

Bruce gave him a reassuring smile. "Thank you, James. I will do my best. If at any point you feel unsafe, I want you to make this signal." He laid his left hand out, and brought the edge of his right down onto it. It was the same signal Steve had told him to use. "If you don't want to do that, I want you to shake your head for me. And finally, if something is okay, and you're a bit uncomfortable but want to continue, I want you to make this sign." This time he laid his right hand out and lay the edge of his left hand on it, brought it up, and then down again twice. "Can you demonstrate that for me?"

The slave obeyed, making sure he used the correct hands. Sometimes Masters did that, tried to trip you up with little things as an excuse to punish you. The slave knew he was going to be punished, but he wasn't about to give them more reasons to. 

"That's very good. I'm pleased. If you don't want to do that, just do a thumbs up, okay? And you can use these at any time. I'm here to help you. You're safe here. Everything you say in here stays between you and me; not even Steve gets to know, unless you say it's okay. The only exceptions to this rule are if there is a court order, or I feel you're a danger to someone else or yourself, okay? Do you understand?" 

The slave tried to keep his expression neutral, but he was confused. He wanted to say that he was, but wasn't sure if that was permitted. These were all new rules, rules he didn't understand. The slave felt dumb, confused, scared. 

Bruce remained silent, expression calm. 

Maybe he was looking for an excuse to punish him. In that case, it was inevitable. So the slave was going to give him one. Slowly, he shook his head. 

"You don't understand?" Bruce confirmed, his expression not changing. 

The slave shook his head again. 

"Which part do you not understand?" He paused, frowned. Hesitated and then asked, "Is it the hand signals?"

The slave shook his head. 

"Is it the confidentiality?"

The slave ran his tongue over his teeth, unsure. Nodded. 

Bruce's shoulders dropped, a tension in them that the slave hadn't even noticed. His smile widened. "Simply put, unless I fear that you may injure someone or you are going to injure yourself, or the police ask for information, everything you say in this room stays here. I will not tell Steve, even if he asks. If  _ you _ ask, I will tell him, but with you here so you can be sure of what I am saying. But I will not say anything you don't want me to, without your consent. Does that make sense?"

It did and it didn't. His thoughts were not his own. He was permitted no secret, so that this man was telling him that he could have them confused him. "Nobody?" His own voice surprised him, croaky and weak, something scarily like hope tingeing it. It was weird to hear his own voice, which was strange. He sometimes said a word or two when Steve asked. But overall, speaking made him scared, uncomfortable. 

"Nobody," Bruce confirmed. "Not without a court order, or that rule about hurting others or yourself. Are you going to hurt anyone, James?"

The slave shook his head. 

"Then we have nothing to worry about, James." Bruce smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose a little higher.

"My name is Bucky," the slave said, the words slipping out unbidden. His heart started racing; he hadn't had permission to speak! How dare he tell a Master that, contradict who he was! The Master had called him James, and the slave was whoever the Masters told him he was. If they called him worthless, he was. If they called him slave, he was. If they called him James, he  _ was _ . 

But the slave was not Bruce's; he was Steve's. And Steve called him Bucky.  _ The slave's name was Bucky.  _

Bruce raised his eyebrows, but he didn't react with anger. No blows came at Bucky. Instead, the lines around his eyes deepened as his smile widened. "Of course, Bucky."

And the slave finally relaxed, just a little.

 

*

 

Bruce said it was fine. Bruce said it was fine, really. Steve had taken him to see Bruce, and Bruce had said it was confidential. But a slave had no secrets, not from his Owners or Masters. The slave had been wrong to think he might have a right to the space in his own mind. He'd felt safe and good after therapy, but by the time he and Steve were home he felt like he was going to be sick. He tried to do the breathing exercises Bruce had told him about towards the end of their session, but they weren't working. 

Eventually, he saw no other option. He had to punish himself. He was  _ never _ supposed to think, much less say, anything like he had about the Masters. He hadn't actually said that much, or really many words at all. But he'd nodded at the questions, and he'd felt scared of going back, and he'd wanted to stay with Steve, and the slave had been  _ very  _ bad. He was not permitted such actions or thoughts. 

The slave couldn't help it. As soon as he and Steve were home, their coats were removed, their shoes neatly placed in the tiny space beside the door, the slave prostrated himself before Steve. The slave wanted to punish himself, but Steve had said no. It was  _ Steve's _ responsibility to punish the slave, but how would Steve know that the slave had been bad? Or maybe Steve wanted the slave to admit when he'd done something wrong. Honesty was very, very important in a slave. 

"Bucky, what?" Steve asked, his tone indicating that the slave had definitely done something wrong. Maybe he was supposed to do this differently, maybe Steve had different rules here too, like he did with everything else. The slave was a terrible slave for not knowing how Steve liked to do things, just another reason that he needed punishment. The list was ever growing, but it was okay. He would learn. He would be a good boy, he promised. He'd be the perfect slave, just like Master Pierce had always said he could one day become. 

"The slave needs to be punished," the slave told him, forehead pressed to the hardwood floors. "The slave has exhibited unacceptable behaviours and thoughts, and this needs to be rectified."

"The… what?"

"The slave, Steve," he repeated, before realizing his error. Steve had given him a new name, had called him 'Bucky'. "Bucky, Steve," he corrected, breath quickening as he realized that was yet another thing on the list. "Bucky needs to be punished, Steve." He managed to force himself to take some deeper breaths. Show no fear. Fear was unacceptable. Fear was weakness. A good slave showed no pain, no fear, was resilient. He had to be a good slave so that Steve wanted to keep him; slaves were disposable, he knew this. 

"What. What do you need to be punished for?" Steve asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest, at least as far as the slave could see out of the corner of his eyes. He shot his eyes forward again, knowing better than to look anywhere but at the floor. Where he belonged, the Masters said. The floor, the only place even half good enough for a bad slave. When possible, they put him lower than that too. 

"Unacceptable behaviours and thoughts, Steve," the slave repeated, pleased that his voice didn't waver as he spoke. "Please punish me as you feel suitable."

Steve was silent. "Bucky, I've told you. Your thoughts are your own."

"I thought unacceptable things about Masters, Steve. It's not permitted," the slave insisted. 

"No." Steve's voice was a little harder, made a shiver run up the slave's spine. "Bucky, sit up, I want you to look at me when I say this." 

Slowly, cautiously, the slave sat up. He didn't want to look Steve in the eye, but he knew that that was required of him. A good slave showed no fear. 

Steve's eyes were hard. "Listen to me. Your thoughts. Your thoughts are your own. They are never mine.  _ You _ are my property, but your thoughts will always remain your own. Do you know why?" 

The slave shook his head, confused and afraid. 

"Because I want you to submit to me willingly. If I own your mind, then you don't do it because you want to. If I own your mind and read your thoughts, then your submission is less than I want it to be. If you are my slave, it is because you want to be and only that. Submission, given without fear, given only out of desire to do so, is the most beautiful submission there is. That is the only submission I want of you. So please, don't do anything because you're afraid of me. I know it's hard right now, but in time I hope you can learn to do this out of free will alone. You understand me, bud?"

The slave felt like there was a hand around his throat, and when his own hand went up to check, he found nothing but the collar. It was hard to breathe, but he didn't know why. Steve… didn't own his thoughts? No, no, that wasn't right. Steve  _ had _ to own his thoughts. Steve was his  _ Owner  _ and Owner meant they owned everything. Didn't it? 

It directly contradicted everything the Masters had told him. They told him that they owned his thoughts, that fear was good in submission. That they didn't care if he wanted to submit; as a slave he  _ had _ to. There was no choice, other than to choose to be a bad slave or a good slave. The slave didn't know what to do with it. He wanted to be a good slave for Steve, but he didn't know how to do that the way Steve wanted him to. 

"Bucky?" Steve asked, eyes still on the slave's. "Do you understand?" 

The slave's eyes widened. He didn't know the correct answer. No, he didn't understand, but he was never supposed to admit that. But he also was forbidden to lie. Steve was going to punish him anyway, and Steve said he wouldn't read the slave's thoughts. So the slave nodded, slowly. He watched Steve's face, looking for evidence that Steve had secretly read his mind, saw through his lie. Instead, Steve just gave him a small smile. 

"See, you're a good boy. You are allowed to think whatever you want, and you're allowed to tell Bruce whatever you want. There's no need for punishment," Steve told him cheerfully. 

No, no, that wasn't right. Steve was supposed to punish him. The slave had done wrong and the slave wouldn't be able to sleep until he felt he'd atoned for his crimes. 

"I lied," the slave said quickly, hardly thinking before he spoke. "I don't understand." 

Steve cocked his head to the side, and then sighed. "Oh Bucky. I'm afraid I might have to punish you now." He looked sad though, instead of gleeful. "I never want to punish you, but please, don't ever lie to me. Even if you think the truth might make me mad." He paused, seemed to think, and then said, "In fact, that's a rule I'm going to make for  _ myself _ . Honesty will never, ever be met with anger. So I ask that you always tell me the truth, even when you're scared. Do you understand that?"

The slave nodded, guilt squeezing at his insides. This was worse than anger; Steve was  _ disappointed _ in him. He didn't know why that hurt more, but it did. He felt worse. Maybe Steve wouldn't want to tolerate a dumb slave like him anymore. Maybe Steve would send him back to the Masters. Steve had said he wouldn't, but Steve hadn't been disappointed in him before. 

"I'm going to punish you, Bucky," Steve told him, looking bothered. His jaw was tight and his shoulders a little higher. "But I don't want to. Punishments aren't fun for you, or for me. I can already tell you feel bad, but given that I told you that I would punish you rather than you doing it, I'm afraid I'm going to have to. Please go into my room, into the closet on the right side. In there, I'd like you to grab out the light brown wooden paddle. Then, bring it back here please." 

The slave quickly got to his feet and went to Steve's bedroom. He'd only been in here once before, on his first night in Steve's apartment. The memories of the night were fuzzy, as so many were. He knew he'd slept in Steve's bed but things had been so scary that he hadn't paid it much heed. He tried not to notice too much now, didn't want to take too long and disappoint Steve with his incompetence. 

Steve's bedroom was slightly cooler than the rest of the apartment, possibly thanks to the large windows that took up most of one wall. His king-sized bed was sloppily made (the slave should make Steve's bed for him; the slave would do a good job for Steve), with several blue fluffy-looking blankets thrown over it. The furniture was all dark wood, and worked with the much lighter wooden floorboards. A large fluffy rug lay between the end of the bed and the unlit fireplace. The room was big, almost as large as the living room, and the white curtains were pushed back, allowing the early afternoon sunshine to pour in. It was a nice room, felt safe. 

The slave noticed two closets, and went to one. It held a row of suits in various dark colors, and a lot of shirts. The slave should iron those too; they were pressed, but the slave knew that he could do better. The slave checked and found no toys, so he went over to the other closet, the one closer to Steve's big bed. The pillows looked squishy, huggable. He wondered if Steve hugged his pillows at night, if the bed felt too big for him alone, like it had for the slave. 

The second closet was what he'd been after. It was filled entirely with toys, some neatly hung, shelves filling the bottom half of the closet with familiar items. He knew what almost all of them were capable of. He examined canes and floggers, a quirt, a dragon’s tail. There was a metal hook, gleaming and shiny, with a small sphere at the end. Eventually, his eyes landed on the paddles. Some were leather, three were wooden, and only one was the light wood that Steve had asked for. It was solid when the slave picked it up, a little weighty but not like it might break him. 

Steve was sitting a little farther forward when he returned, and the slave knelt and presented the paddle for him. He was glad that his training helped to conceal how scared he was. Where was Steve going to hit him? How badly? Would he hose the slave off and lock him in the bathroom? Did he have a basement to put him in that the slave didn't know about? 

"Sweatpants down, and across my lap," Steve said, his voice weirdly blank. The slave hurriedly obeyed, folding the pants quickly. He'd learned that lesson long ago and didn't wish to add to his punishment. He hadn't been across someone's lap for as long as he could remember. The Masters preferred to tie him down to something so he couldn't kick, couldn't escape. It felt good to be across Steve's lap without pants, even though he knew something terrible was coming. The slave had spent so long naked that clothing felt wrong to him, like it didn't belong there, but it was what Steve preferred.

"I'm going to give you just five hits, because I am very grateful that you told me. But no more lying, please, Bucky." Steve was running his fingers through the slave's hair, and shifted slightly to spread the slave's weight more comfortably across his legs. The hand in his hair felt nice, even as the guilt continued to twist his stomach. He'd been such a bad slave, had lied to Steve, and now Steve was upset… "But once we're done here, you will not be punishing yourself. All is forgiven, okay? Do you understand me?"

The slave paused, not wanting to lie again. All would be forgiven? Really? It didn't seem real. It wasn't that he didn't understand though, it was that he didn't believe it. So finally, he nodded. Steve's fingers rubbed at his scalp, soothing despite the fear. 

Steve's hands left his head though, and went to his behind. Despite being naked for so long, he suddenly felt very, very exposed. The paddle came down hard on his backside, and the slave fought with himself not to tense, as tensing up would make it hurt more. It stung, but not too badly. But that just meant it would get worse from here. Steve delivered the hits quickly and efficiently, and the slave remained silent the whole time. And as quickly as it had started, it was over. His behind smarted, felt a little warm, but… that was it? Steve put the paddle to the side and put his cool hands on the slave's behind, rubbing gently. It felt nice, and the slave pressed back against the touch, just slightly. 

"Good boy," Steve said, voice soft. "Thank you for telling me the truth. Do you want a cuddle?" A cuddle? For that? That had hardly been a punishment. 

The slave shook his head. Opened his mouth to speak. Closed it again. Was this part of the punishment? To trick him into thinking there wasn't more to come, when there really was? 

"No more?" the slave asked, still across Steve's lap. His voice was small, unacceptably so. 

Steve's hand on his buttocks stilled. "Are you questioning my punishment?" 

"Yes," the slave said after a long silence. 

"Good. I'm proud of you for telling the truth, and for asking. I want you to question when you think I might be wrong. I may not always be right; I'm human too, pal. But as for any more punishment, no. No more. You didn't screw up too badly, and you accepted your punishment. C'mon, off now. Pants back on." Steve's voice was cheerful, and he gently swatted the slave's behind again. It didn't hurt at all, the warmth of the paddling almost entirely gone already. 

The slave crawled off his lap, horrified as he dragged himself up to realize that his penis had started to swell. It felt a little bit nice. The slave felt sick. The Masters had called him disgusting for that, had locked him in a spiky little cage to stop that from happening. They'd called him cruel names, telling him how bad he was for enjoying the things they did to him. He had some vague memory that it had once been enjoyable, that he'd even liked the names. But the memories were so cloudy, and maybe it had all been a dream. 

He hurriedly pulled his underwear and sweatpants back on, desperately willing his penis to shrink back to its usual size, for the warmth down there to disappear. That kind of enjoyment was forbidden to a dumb slave like him. 

Steve was staring at him, and only when the slave looked at him did he seem to startle and look away. His cheeks went a little redder; the slave hadn't noticed it but Steve was flushed. Maybe he was sick. Why else would he have been red? 

The slave blinked a few times up at Steve, mostly confused. But not scared. No more punishment? That was it? 

"Hey, why don't you come up here with me, pal?" Steve asked him, patting the empty space on the sofa beside him. "Even little punishments get aftercare, you know? Let's watch the next episode of… What were you watching again? Was it  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine? _ "

The slave blinked stupidly up at him, but after a moment he obeyed, carefully getting onto the sofa. Aftercare? Still, he was going to prove to Steve that he was a good boy, the best, and oh so obedient. Steve wouldn't want to get rid of him. Steve gently tugged him closer and then fiddled with the remote control for the television. Blaring music filled the room, and Steve focused intently on what was happening before him. 

Slowly, the slave relaxed. An episode passed and Steve didn't get up, nor shove his head into his lap. No more blows came. Instead, when the slave shivered slightly, Steve just grabbed the blanket from the slave's bed beside the sofa and wrapped it around him before slinging an arm over his shoulders. 

No punishment? No, no, the slave  _ had _ been punished. Steve had punished him as Steve saw fit. Steve was his Owner, and his Owner's word was law. If that was the punishment Steve deemed appropriate, who was he to question it? 

So the slave relaxed against Steve's side. The slave had the very best Owner around! The slave was going to be  _ such _ a good boy for him. 


	6. Chapter 6

**December**

**_CRIME - 12/20/2017 11:06am ET_ **

**_Leading New York Psychiatrist Facing Charges For Human Trafficking and Cult Activity_ **

_ NEW YORK (AP) - In October, Dr. Alexander Pierce, 61, and several accomplices, including Mr. Brock Rumlow, 47, Mr. Jack Rollins, 46, and Dr. Jasper Sitwell, 52, were arrested. Dr. Pierce is facing 27 charges including human trafficking, first and second degree rape, sexual assault, coercion, fraud, and engaging cult behaviour. Each of the members of the cult, otherwise known as HYDRA (an acronym for Honesty, Youth, Discipline, Respect and Accountability - traits that the members of the cult are sworn to live by) faces similar charges. Each faces up to 25 years in prison.  _

_ An investigation into the cult's activities have revealed that they regularly engaged in BDSM (an acronym for Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission and Sadomasochism) and that contracts signed by members of the house will be used to defend Dr. Pierce and his accomplices. Dr. Pierce's lawyer, Arnim Zola, states: "All activities engaged by those in Dr. Pierce's home were entirely consensual. We have written evidence supporting that these 'victims' wanted everything that they participated in. This was a consensual Master and slave relationship, and it was something that all parties engaged in willingly and with enthusiasm."  _

_ An unidentified government agency has revealed that legal documents belonging to the "slaves" of the household were locked in a safe. These included Social Security Cards, passports, birth certificates, and in the case of one victim, visa documentation. One member of the house, who wishes to remain anonymous, states that the slaves of the house lived in constant fear and had no reason to believe that they would be able to safely leave.  _

_ Natalia Mercer, known in HYDRA as 'Summer', argues that this operation was entirely consensual but on the extreme end. "It makes people uncomfortable," Mercer said in an interview last week. "It makes people uncomfortable and the way to deal with that discomfort is to persecute us. But we were doing nothing wrong. Dr. Pierce and his associates are respected members of the BDSM community, and in the medical community. They would never break the Hippocratic Oath and harm others. What they prefer to do in the bedroom is nobody's business." _

_ The first hearing will be next month, January 18th, at the Manhattan Criminal Courts.  _ _ Please see here for further details _ _.  _

*

 

It was, frankly, a pain in the ass to organize all that Bucky needed to do regarding helping SHIELD. Steve couldn't afford much more time off work, and whilst Stark seemed like a nice guy, Steve didn't answer to him. He answered to Pepper Potts, Stark's long-term partner. And Pepper was lovely, but appropriately firm. She practically ran the company, and there had been whispers that Stark was going to be making her CEO any week. Even though she'd been forgiving of Steve's recent increase in absences, particularly given the circumstances, he wasn't sure how far that patience stretched. 

He wasn't going to try and find out though. The job was too good, with too many benefits. 

Still, it was a giant pain. Steve had work every day, but SHIELD wanted statements from Bucky. They wanted endless interviews, conversations, things that left Bucky shaky and silent and withdrawn for hours afterwards. Steve couldn't be at work and escort Bucky safely to and from SHIELD each time. And that didn't even account for his frequent therapy sessions. He knew that he needed to let Bucky start figuring things like the subway out again, had to let him be able to wander New York City on his own… But Steve was protective. He needed to be sure that Bucky would be okay. Whilst HYDRA was apprehended, Steve remained nervous.

He trusted Bucky; it was the rest of the world he didn't fucking trust. Maybe he was being paranoid, but there was nothing to it. He had to trust Bucky out there in the world because he couldn't afford all the time off. He couldn't escort Bucky to every therapy appointment. He didn't need to. Bucky would be fine. 

As a compromise, he'd bought Bucky a phone. Bucky had been cautious of the shiny object at first, but he seemed to realize it wasn't going to bite him (or zap him) quickly after. Steve had shown him how to download games to his phone, and he'd made it very quickly to level 208 on  _ Candy Crush _ . After that, he'd discovered another gamed called Picross, which he seemed to like when he was stressed. 

After that Steve had activated the Location Services on Bucky's phone. It turned Steve's stomach to track Bucky. He didn't  _ want _ to but if Bucky got lost—or worse, kidnapped by angry HYDRA members—Steve would hopefully have a hope of finding him. If he didn't want to stay with Steve, that much would hopefully be obvious. If not… Steve didn't want to think about it. He was doing the best he could, and that, Natasha and Bruce told him, was enough. 

So now, instead of being there to help Bucky find his way to his thrice-weekly therapy appointment, he was all but chained to a desk, periodically refreshing the location app. It was stupid. Bucky was clearly at Bruce's office, and had been for the last forty minutes. His appointment would finish in the next ten, and then he'd follow the same path home that he always did. It would be okay. It would absolutely be okay. 

 

*

 

The… Bucky…?  _ Bucky _ left Bruce's offices feeling better today. Some days he didn't remember leaving, didn't know how he made it home. Some days he felt like crying, even if he knew that wasn't right. But today was one of those special days where he felt lighter, like maybe there was something in the future to look forward to, even if he didn't know what that was. 

It was cold. Decidedly cold. He had a thick puffy jacket and his own boots though, and once it was secured he was fine. He messaged Steve, letting him know that therapy was done and that he'd be heading home. The streets felt familiar. He'd made his own way home several times now. 

Had he been here before too? Somehow working out the subway was second nature; he never had to look where he was going, never had to stand and stare at the maps with a confused expression like the tourists he saw so often. He'd been shown by Steve how to get home, but somehow he'd just known beforehand. Bruce had told him that was to be expected, that there were memories he couldn't access just yet. 

It had been a good day but he still spaced out on the subway, buried in his phone as the cart rattled along. The colorful shapes in  _ Candy Crush _ entranced him, and when he climbed the three flights of stairs and emerged into the fresh air once again he was shocked to notice… he wasn't in Kansas anymore (and what was that from?). 

The sl- no, not slave, he was _Bucky_ now. Bucky stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs, getting knocked around by several people as they pushed past him. He stopped himself from apologizing and throwing himself on the filthy street in deference. Instead he shuffled out of the way, blinking in confusion at the surrounding neighbourhood. Where was he? Why had he gotten off  _ here _ ?

He frowned as he tucked his phone into his pocket and slid his gloves on. He needed to have a look around, to get his bearings. Had he gone too far, or gotten off too soon? He didn't know how looking around would help him, given he didn't know where he was. Maybe he could ask someone for directions; the idea was terrifying. Talking to Steve was becoming a little easier. Talking to Bruce had been hard at first too, but he was learning. But going up to a stranger to ask for directions made his heart race, and a layer of sweat bead against his skin under his clothes. 

He glanced around helplessly. Could he call Steve? No, Steve couldn’t help if the slave didn't know where he was.  _ Bucky, not the slave _ , he reminded himself. Even in his mind it sounded like Bruce's soothing voice. 

He had to manage this himself. Steve would be proud. Steve liked looking after him, but he didn't like to worry Steve. Okay. He had to figure out where he was, and get home. He could do it. He looked around again. He was in a park with parents and children, but it wasn't very busy. He stood there, staring at one of the women playing with her toddler, trying to summon his strength to cross over and ask her. But as he hesitated, she glanced up, giving him a weird look, and averting her gaze hurriedly. His skin went colder still, imagining what he might look like. 

He hurried away, shaking his head. Approaching mothers in the park was a terrible idea. He fought with the thoughts that he needed to punish himself, that he was  _ badbadbad _ . No, he was  _ Steve's _ and only  _ Steve _ got to punish him. He'd just tell Steve later and get disciplined as Steve deemed appropriate. Steve was his Owner but sometimes the sl-  _ Bucky  _ thought he didn't punish him enough. But Steve was his Owner and his Owner knew what was best for Bucky. His Owner gave him exactly the right amount of punishment because his Owner always knew best. 

The park not being a wise option, Bucky crossed the road to one of the stores that lined the street. There was a little ice cream store with faded paint, but it was warm inside. It was blessedly empty, being winter and the middle of a weekday. A little bell tinkled above him as he pushed in. 

The man behind the counter’s mouth fell open. Bucky started, double checking that the sign on the door did indeed read that the store was open. It was. Bucky looked nervously back at the man, who was walking around the edge of the counter.

"James Buchanan Barnes? Son of a cheese biscuit…" His tone was incredulous as he stalked towards Bucky. It was only thanks to Bucky's training that he didn't flee in the face of fear. He knew how to breathe through his panic responses, to not show his terror. The name didn't feel right, even though he knew by now it was his. "Bucky? Is that you? Jeezy Chreezy, that is you!"

Bucky blinked, not sure if he was meant to speak. No, Bruce told him he should practice speaking. But… What was he supposed to say? "Hello?" he tried, voice croaky even though he'd used it less than an hour ago. 

"Mother of pearl, we thought you were dead!" He clasped Bucky's shoulders, large hands firm. His breathing exercises must have been working because suddenly, he wasn't scared anymore; he was just confused. He didn't know this man, but he seemed to know Bucky. He'd been called James several times by others, such as Lady Natasha, and Bruce, and all the doctors, and all the detectives; but that wasn't his name. This man had called him Bucky though. He was Bucky.  _ Steve _ called him Bucky. But… Who was this man?

Instead of responding, Bucky just blinked. It was okay though, the man seemed more than capable of filling the gaps for him. "C'mon, sit down. Let me get you your old favorite."

The man pushed him into one of the old wooden chairs at one of the empty tables, shaking his head as he walked back behind the counter. 

"I can't believe Winnie didn't tell me you were home! Where were you? We've been so worried. We thought you were  _ dead _ , man!"

Bucky cocked his head, watching as he scooped three flavors into a cardboard cup, drenched it in chocolate sauce, and sliding a pale green shovel into it before returning to Bucky. He set the enormous cup down before grabbing a seat himself, spinning the chair so he could sit on it backwards. Bucky stared at the ice cream as if it might bite him. 

"How long have you been back? Where were you? I should let you speak, shouldn't I? Never thought when I came into work today I'd be seeing you come through that door. Never thought I'd see it again." The man's big brown eyes glistened with unshed tears as he reflected, trapped in some kind of memory, but then he visibly shook himself and returned to staring intently at Bucky. He grinned, shaking his head again in disbelief. 

Bucky stared back at his sundae, not sure what to do with it. It had been put in front of him, but Bucky still wasn't used to eating without permission. He was probably supposed to eat it but Steve hadn't given him rules for that yet. What was he supposed to do when Steve wasn't around? Was he supposed to eat? He was allowed to eat when Steve wasn't home, but what were his protocols when somebody else gave him food? 

"Aw man, don't tell me you've gone and changed your favorite flavors or something. C'mon man, this is one of the best kosher ice cream joints in Brooklyn. Almost five stars on Yelp! Eat up!"

Bucky relaxed, an order finally given. He could eat. He hesitantly picked up the shovel, a little intimidated by how deluxe the food was. The doctors had explained why he'd been so sick that first night, that because he'd been on such a bland, liquid diet for years that his body had rebelled at the introduction of rich food. Steve had been good after those first few days. He hadn't needed doctors to tell him how to take care of Bucky. He'd been such a good Owner and given him bland food that didn't make him sick, and had slowly introduced more things, sometimes hand feeding him as a reward. He wished Steve was here to hand feed him the ice cream. 

But he was not. So Bucky twirled the little shovel around nervously and finally took a mouthful. It was violently sweet, and cold, but the ice cream store was warm. He wished he'd taken off his coat. It was too late for that now though. He took another mouthful, watching the man carefully. 

The man watched back, his grin wide. His expression shifted, eyes becoming misted. Bucky took him in, his white pressed shirt, dark red apron, and little white hat. It sat jauntily on top of his head, on the edge of falling off but somehow not shifting at all with the man's movements. His shirt bore a name tag, 'Joseph'. At least Bucky didn't have to keep thinking of him as "the man" even if he didn't know who this Joseph was and why he was so happy to see him. Like Steve, he must have known Bucky from Before. But Before what, he didn't know. 

"Spawn of a prawn, I'm so happy to see you again, kid. Your Ma was so worried. We had no idea what happened to you. I see that Rogers kid sometimes around the holidays though. He always makes a point of stopping in to say hi." He gave a sadder smile, caught in memories. Then he shook his head; the hat didn't move, which continued to perplex Bucky. He took another mouthful of ice cream. His veins were starting to sing from all the sugar, but it was delicious. And Joseph wanted him to eat it. Bucky would be a good boy for this nice man. 

He kept talking, on the verge of babbling. "Becca's starting to get big now, isn't she? You excited to be an uncle? How's your pop going? I bet you're glad to be home. How long you been back? Where have you been, kid?"

Bucky blinked rapidly, unsure what to say. Becca? Who was Becca? Why was she getting big? Was she a dog? Or just fat? Wasn't it rude to comment on someone's size like that? 

"Uh…?" he finally said, voice still rough and raspy. Then he stopped. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the slightest clue what this man was talking about, didn't know what was happening. His eyes burned in a way that was somehow familiar, and his throat felt tight. Oh. Crying. He was allowed to do that now. Steve and Bruce said. But years of training stopped him from letting the tears fall. He looked down at the ice cream again, took another quick mouthful to try and make his mouth feel less weird. It was uncomfortable though, made it feel worse. 

"Aw heck, I didn't mean to make you cry, kid! Though I guess you're not really a kid anymore. I'm just happy to see you." Joseph leaned awkwardly around the chair and patted Bucky's forearm. It felt weird through the thickness of the coat he was now sweating in. He should remove it. He busied himself with peeling the coat off, hanging it over the chair. It distracted him enough that he was able to swallow the lump in his throat and blink the stinging out of his eyes. 

Why couldn't he remember things? He wanted to remember, didn't he? Bruce had said that his lack of memories weren't anything physical. He'd had so many tests done in the last… How long had it been? That they knew there was nothing significantly wrong with his brain, that his memories would probably come back in time. Still, it made him discomforted. He'd apparently been here before; the man knew him. Why had he come here though? 

"I'm… sorry…" Bucky croaked, hands falling to his lap as he stared at the ice cream. "I… I don't remember." He stammered out the explanation. "I don't remember how I got here…"

Sadness and confusion quickly took over Joseph's face. "What do you mean?" The slave was glad he recognized that emotion, even if it made him sad at the same time because Steve sometimes had that exact expression. 

"I don't remember how I got here. I was just trying to go home but I was playing on my phone and I got off at the wrong stop. I don't know where I am. I know I'm Bucky, but… Where am I?" It all came out as a rush and the lump in his throat returned and choked his final few words. 

"Aw heck. You don't remember me?" Joseph's expression dropped. 

Bucky shook his head, hair flicking his face and falling across it for a moment. 

"You grew up here. You lived just down that street." He pointed out the window, to the right. "I've known you since you were a rugrat, you used to come in here all the time with Stevie Rogers. Kid was allergic to everything. Glad he grew out of some of that. You… You don't remember that?" 

Bucky shook his head miserably. He didn't, not at all. Steve said they'd known each other, that he didn't expect the old Bucky to come back, that he was here for whichever Bucky he wanted to be now. They'd grown up together? Had come to this very ice cream store all the time? He looked around, searching desperately for something that would give him something more than  _ I know this place but I don't know how _ . No answers came. 

Joseph slumped against the back of the chair. "Well, shit. Your Ma doesn't know you’re back? You haven't seen Becca?"

Bucky shook his head again. "I… How do I get home? I… I want to go home." It was scary to express something that he wanted, but his heart was racing and he was confused and sad. Joseph didn't seem like the kind of person who would hurt him. Bucky just wanted to go home. 

Joseph sighed, lips pursed. He frowned, seeming to hum over his words. "You know how to use the subway, obviously?" Bucky nodded, feeling some hope rise in his chest. "Okay, so you're on the M line. Where do you gotta go?"

"Bed-Stuy," he answered immediately. 

Joseph whistled. "You're a way off. How'd you end up here?" He listed off directions that made Bucky's head spin. Bucky's distress must have shown on his face because he seemed to stop halfway through and offered to write it down. He did, on a little pale blue Post-It note, his printing neat and the instructions simple. 

"It'll take you 'bout an hour, but should get you there. What're you doing in Bed-Stuy?"

"Steve," Bucky said, hoping that would explain it. He didn't know what he was doing there either, but he was with Steve. Steve felt like the answer to a lot of things. 

Joseph thankfully nodded though, as if that indeed  _ was  _ an answer to everything. "So your Ma doesn't know you're home?"

Bucky shook his head again. "I… I don't remember." 

Joseph looked sadder still and clasped Bucky's shoulder. "You been there long?"

"No. I… Two months? I think?" He didn't know what month it was. It had only recently started snowing so probably mid-December, maybe a little longer. "Not long."

Finally, Joseph sighed. "Well, good luck, okay. Come back and say hi. And tell your Ma you're back. She misses you like crazy, and would be happy to know you're alive."

Another lump appeared in Bucky's throat. He didn't remember her but he knew he should. Something told him he loved his Ma though. But let her know what? That he was back, but not the person she might have remembered, that he wasn't the same as Steve or Joseph remembered… He didn't remember them either, which seemed to hurt them more than it did him. Still, he nodded assurance at Joseph but wasn’t certain he'd go through with that promise. 

The ice cream was half-puddle by this point. He brought out his wallet to pay for it, but Joseph shook him off. "It's on the house, kid. Just… get home safe, will ya?" Then he wrapped big arms around Bucky's shoulders, swallowing him in a large hug that made him feel more safe than scared. Something about his lack of fear made him happier than the actual hug; he'd been so scared of everyone just a month ago and even though he was still "hyper-vigilant" as Bruce would say, it was reassuring that he wasn't scared of this man and his big hug. Bucky let himself relax, just momentarily, but didn't hug back. 

When he withdrew, Joseph's eyes were misted again. Bucky tried to give him a reassuring smile. It felt weird on his face, but it did seem to have the desired effect on Joseph. Joseph relaxed. "Now, get out of here."

Bucky picked up the overly large cup of partially melted ice cream and left. He made sure to scrape every last bit of it out of the cup, and despite the coldness of the dish, it made him feel warm inside. 

 

*

 

Steve desperately refreshed the location app over and over. What was Bucky doing? Where was he going? The app would read as him being gone for a moment, connection lost, then reappearing as his phone no doubt got signal again in the various subway stations. He was going the wrong way! What was he doing? Was he okay? Had he been kidnapped?

"Steve! Get over here!" 

Steve wanted to snarl at whoever was interrupting him. Bucky could be in trouble! But as he looked up at his colleague he saw Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, among many other Stark Industries VIPs waiting outside the meeting room. Fuck, Steve had entirely forgotten about this meeting! Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . He needed to check where Bucky was. Unfortunately, this wasn't the kind of meeting he could beg out of. 

Eyeing his phone desperately, he pocketed it, sending a prayer to a God he didn't believe in that Bucky was fine, just lost. The meeting dragged on. It was impossible to stop bouncing his leg, twisting his pencil urgently through his fingers, as if ridding himself of the anxious energy would somehow guarantee Bucky's safety. 

The meeting went overtime by forty-three minutes (not that he was counting) and he all but ran out of the glass meeting room, bringing the phone out instantly. He zoomed in on Bucky's location, eyes widening. He knew  _ exactly  _ where Bucky was. 

A million thoughts raced through his mind. What was Bucky doing there? Was he okay? Had he remembered everything? Did Bucky need him? Shit!  _ …Shit! _ He hadn't told the Barneses that Bucky was okay! Well, okay was at times an overstatement, but he was alive and recovering! Winnie was going to  _ murder _ him! Or worse, cry! She was going to cry and be so upset that he hadn't told her. It simply hadn't occurred to him, what with everything that was happening. Steve swore under his breath, zooming in further to the map location.  _ How the fuck had it not occurred to him to tell Bucky's fucking  _ mother  _ that he was alive? _

He swore again. It was the kosher ice cream store they'd gone to all the time as kids, when he was still allergic to just about everything. Years later and allergies aside, he still loved the ice cream there, and Joseph and Diane.  _ Jesus Fucking Christ _ , he'd forgotten that Bucky kept kosher! He was hardly a heavily practicing Jew, but he'd still tried to keep kosher whenever possible (except when drunk, when all bets were off). His stomach churned with anxiety and frustration at himself; how could he have forgotten that  _ Bucky kept kosher? _

Steve felt like the biggest failure in the world, possibly the known universe. 

Some Dominant he was… Forgetting something as important as that about Bucky! He scavenged his memory, trying to recall every meal Bucky had eaten in the two months. He'd kept Bucky on relatively light foods for quite some time, no dairy, lighter meats. But he hadn't confirmed if those meats were… Fuck, he needed to get a hold of himself. And probably replace half the pans in his kitchen, if Bucky wanted. He needed new cookware anyway. Did they need a rabbi to bless everything? Did they know a rabbi? Steve would _find_ a rabbi, and fix this. 

The map refreshed before his eyes; Bucky was leaving the ice cream store and was heading towards the subway. Before he had a chance to call, the map had lost his signal. Goddamnit. He fought with himself and the desire to leave work, to go home and make sure Bucky was okay, but managed to stop himself. It wouldn't help Bucky if he lost his job. 

As he reluctantly sat at his desk again, he refreshed the map over and over, following the path home. But Bucky made it home safely, no diversions. After it became clear that Bucky was there, and not leaving, not making a hurried escape, Steve anxiously went back to work. He'd been at his computer but his productivity had dropped well below his usual target. 

It was well and truly dark by the time he left the office, his work being slower given his distraction. He was tempted to call Bucky on the ride home, but Bucky was still so quiet that Steve feared the phone call would mostly be him stressing and Bucky being quiet, nodding or shaking his head where Steve couldn't see him. 

Like in the meeting, he bounced his leg the whole journey home. It was ridiculous; Bucky was clearly safe. He was home, had been there all afternoon. He probably had something cooked for them, and had ironed him a fresh shirt for tomorrow. It was fine. This was fine. 

He tried, desperately, to quell the hope that perhaps Bucky had recovered his memories. He knew it was wrong to hope for that. Bruce had warned that they may never come back, and Steve was preparing for that outcome. But Steve was still human, and he still hoped. 

Despite this, the disappointment stung when he entered his apartment and found Bucky kneeling by the door. It was exactly the same as every other day, and it was apparent that the memories had not returned. He shoved those feelings down, swallowing a lump that had grown in his throat without permission. 

"Hey bud, good day?" Steve asked, hanging his coat up and slipping his shoes off, determinedly not looking at Bucky. He just needed to get hold of his emotions and then he'd be fine. He was just disappointed was all. It was probably for the best that Bucky not regain his memories anyway; who  _ knew _ what kind of crap that would dredge up? 

Bucky hummed his assent that yes, it had apparently been a good day. The apartment smelled good too.  _ Steak, perhaps? Not pork, Jesus Christ, Rogers, how could you have forgotten such a vital thing about Bucky? _ Finally, Steve managed to look at him. The lump in his throat eased, but only because he very determinedly made it that way. Bucky looked good, even if he didn't have his memories back. 

Dinner was ready in the kitchen, and as soon as Steve sat down at the table, Bucky started getting it ready to plate. Steve rubbed at the bridge of his nose where his glasses had pinched all day, and brought his phone out. Jesus. He had to call Winnie. Winnie was going to  _ kill _ him, revive him and then murder him again. And he absolutely would deserve it. 

But then Bucky was back, bringing their two plates. He served Steve's first, placing them between the knife and fork he'd already neatly laid out. He put his own on the ground beside Steve, and dragged his cushion over. Steve was grateful for the distraction. He had to eat this right now; otherwise it would go cold and Bucky would assume he'd done something wrong, right? There was no way he could call Winnie right now. He had some work to do after dinner too. He… had something to do, right? Maybe he and Bucky could go for a walk? See a movie? Had Bucky been to the movies recently? How much pop culture had he missed out on?  _ How much non-Kosher food had Steve inadvertently poisoned Bucky's Jewish blood with? _

He glanced down at Bucky, inhaling sharply when he saw Bucky looking at him, expression expectant. Progress. There was an expression. Expressions were a good sign, even if the memories showed little sign of returning. Wait… Why was Bucky staring at him? 

"What's up, pal?" Steve asked, nervousness making his voice squeak slightly. 

"You've been staring at your plate for a while," Bucky pointed out. He looked more amused than concerned though.

"Shit!" Steve said, smacking himself in the face as he did. "Sorry, Buck. You can eat now." 

Bucky gave him a tight smile, looking more like he was trying to withhold a grin than like he was in pain. "No self-punishing, Steve," he said in a little voice, more tease than Steve had heard in  _ years _ . His chest tightened, and he felt another glimmer of hope that he very much stood on. No, he was happy to have Bucky back at all, even if his memories never returned. He couldn't allow false hope. 

He returned his attention to the meal, intent on it. "So, uh, how was your day?" Steve asked, wondering if he could outright ask Bucky where he'd been. Bucky knew that Steve tracked his movements, had been there when he'd set it up. He'd even agreed to it, but of course he had. Did that make Steve as bad as HYDRA? 

"I got lost," Bucky said simply, carefully cutting his steak and vegetables into little bite-sized pieces. He'd been doing that for as long as Steve had known him. 

"Oh yeah?" Steve asked, trying to keep his tone light and eyes trained on his own plate. 

"Yeah. I was playing on my phone and I didn't notice but I got off at the wrong stop. The man at the ice cream store knew me." He had finished cutting up his meal now and popped a small piece of steak into his mouth. It was delicious and Steve realized several chews in that Bucky had made it kosher; Bucky had been doing it the whole time. Steve was a goddamn idiot. 

"Oh yeah? Hey, did you do anything to this steak?" 

Bucky's head jerked up, eyes widening. "Is there something wrong, Steve?" There was a slight waver in his voice. 

"Nah, bud, it's delicious. Just wondering how you prepared it…?" He tried to keep his tone light, and thought he did a rather good job. 

"I did it the same way I always do," Bucky said slowly, eyes searching Steve's face as if he might find the answer there. 

Shit. Did that mean...? 

"Well, it tastes great!" he said, ruffling Bucky's hair and turning wide eyes back to his plate. Was Bucky remembering? He decided to take a risk, keeping his tone jovial and light. "Have I broken kosher since you got here? Do we need to get a rabbi in?" 

Bucky cocked his head. "What's kosher? A rabbi? Why would we need a rabbi?" 

What little hope that had begun to burn in Steve's belly was very quickly snuffed. Nope. Muscle memory, it seemed. He took another bite of the steak that now tasted like cardboard in his mouth. The room was silent for several minutes, Steve lost in his own thoughts. What on earth was he going to tell Winnie? She couldn't see Bucky like this… She couldn't know what was happening. It would destroy her almost as badly as when Bucky had gone missing. To know what had happened to Bucky was more traumatising than Steve gave it credit for. He sometimes forgot that, only because he was very pointedly ignoring any and all feelings associated with it. 

"Do I have a mom?" Bucky asked, voice almost childlike. 

Was it warm in here? It was definitely warm in here. The air felt rather thin, too. Maybe he needed to open a window. He was going to open a window. He quickly crossed the room and opened the window, before he returned to the table. Bucky wasn't eating, instead watching him with interest. 

"Of course you do, Buck," Steve said, finally easing himself back into his chair. "What… What makes you ask that?"

"The man at the ice cream store asked about her. What's she like?" 

Steve was lost for words. How was he supposed to describe Winifred Barnes? Or any of the Barnes family, really? Just as he opened his mouth to stumble out some useless turn of phrase, his phone began vibrating violently on the table. Saved by the bell! 

"Sorry pal, gotta take this!" he said hurriedly, swiping the phone without even checking. Telemarketer, someone telling him if he didn't hand over his SSN right now he'd have a warrant out for his arrest, Pepper telling him that Stark Industries has folded and he was now unemployed and uninsured, anything! Anything but answering that question right now. He hurried into his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

" _ Steven Grant Rogers, when I get a hold of you, I swear… _ " Oh. It turned out things  _ could _ get worse. 

"Hi Winnie…" Steve said, ageing about forty years in the space of a sentence. 

" _ He's back? My baby is back and you didn't tell me? _ " Winnie demanded.

"Yeah, I've uh, been meaning to call you?" 

" _ Have you? Have you really? Joseph tells me he ran into Bucky today, said he's been back a while. After everything that's happened, you  _ kept _ this from me? _ " She sounded a mix of incredulous, furious, and heartbroken. Steve kind of wished she'd just keep chewing him out, because if she dipped into tears territory, Steve would never recover. He  _ hated _ it when Winnie cried, and he'd seen it more than enough times over the past few years. 

"It's… complicated," Steve sighed, sitting on the windowsill closest to his bed and staring at the dark world below. Would it be overdramatic to throw himself out of the window to avoid this chat? He'd probably break a leg but it would be Worth It to get out of this. 

" _ Sure. Go on. Tell me how complicated it is, as if that excuses you not telling me my baby is alive! _ " Her voice was shrill, making the hairs on Steve's neck stand up. 

"He doesn't remember anything," Steve said quietly. 

" _ What do you mean 'he doesn't remember anything'? He's 29, not 69. He doesn't have dementia. _ "

"We… The doctors called it psychogenic amnesia. It's brought on by, um, by trauma." He was surprised at how level his voice was because his insides felt so twisted and sharp, like knives were stabbing him repeatedly throughout. 

" _ Trauma?! Steve. _ " Her first word was piercing, but her voice went very cold and very still suddenly. " _ You tell me what happened to my baby,  _ right _ now _ ." 

"I… There." Steve wilted, not sure how much detail she could handle. "There was a group. A… cult, I guess? Bucky went along with them and… They. They did stuff to him. He doesn't remember much, which is a good thing I guess. But he… He doesn't remember me. Or you. He didn't remember he was Jewish, even though he apparently has been keeping kosher the whole fucking time he's been here. He… He doesn't remember us. I didn't want to tell you because… It hurt bad enough when he disappeared, I didn't want you to get your hopes up…" Any semblance of steady speaking disappeared, the words slow and fumbling, difficult to get out. 

He heard her sniffling into the speaker and his heart twisted, squeezing. God damnit. 

" _ Is… Is he okay? Is he gonna be okay? _ "

"He's… okay. There's a department dealing with the court case. They're paying for his health insurance, and he's getting a lotta therapy. They're building a good case against them and they'll be locked up a real long time. He's as okay as he can be given the situation. He's in better shape than before, I guess." 

She made a heartbroken sound of acknowledgement, sniffing loudly into the phone. Then she gasped. " _ Wait, this isn't that cult that was in the news recently, was it? Steve, it better not be. Please tell me it's not that… that sex group? _ " 

Steve winced, rubbing his face with his hand. Winnie would not like this at all. "Um?" was the best he could offer. He couldn't lie to her, not now, but to tell her that it was indeed the group she'd read about felt callous somehow. 

" _ Oh Steve… _ " She sobbed out his name, and Steve again contemplated throwing himself out the window. It would surely be less painful than listening to his second mother sob into the phone. " _ Can I see him? _ " 

Had Steve done something wrong in another life to deserve this? This felt like cruel and unusual torture. "I… Don't know. Do you want to? It. He doesn't remember. That hurts more than you can know." He was surprised to hear himself choke on his words, to hear his own voice crack. It had been several months but he hadn't allowed himself to feel this, to process it. Bruce had given him the card of a fellow therapist, had advised that Steve needed it just as much as Bucky did, but the card continued to gather dust on his desk at work. He hadn't let himself think about it, let alone verbalise it. But some days it was agony, pure and simple. He'd gone this far without thinking about it, and he wasn't going to let the emotions win, not tonight. 

Winnie sniffled again, and Steve could almost see her through the phone, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief she always kept stuffed in her blouse. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't know what to tell you. He… He doesn't remember…" Steve said weakly, feeling hollow now. 

" _ Stevie… _ " she crooned, soothing him through her own sobs. " _ Stevie. I'm sure you did what you thought was right _ .  _ I'm sure you're doing a great job taking care of my boy. _ " Steve nodded mutely, hoping that she'd somehow sense it through the phone. He didn't trust his own voice, didn't trust that he wouldn't finally break. 

" _ I still wanna see my baby, when he's ready. I… Tell him to take as long as he needs. He doesn't have to remember me for me to still love him. But. When he's ready, okay? I don't wanna set his therapy back, or nothin', okay? _ " Her accent was barely there in everyday life, but slipped out when she was either drunk, or as Steve had learned just now, crying. " _ But you give him a big hug for me, and tell him his Ma loves him… so… damn… much… Okay? And she's… so happy… he's alive… That that's all that matters to her. _ " She choked her way through the words, making Steve almost lose what little semblance of emotional control he had going. 

"I promise," Steve said, hating how broken his voice sounded. "I promise… We'll come see you soon as he asks."

It took him several minutes after the call had ended for Steve to calm down. He angrily brushed the few tears that had escaped their hold away, took several long, deep breaths. Finally, he left the dark bedroom and returned to the living room. Bucky had finished his meal and cleaned up his own plate. He'd left Steve's there, and was kneeling beside the table. He perked up a little when he saw Steve return, pushing his shoulders back. 

Steve dropped to his knees beside Bucky, and pulled him into a hug. 

"Steve?" Bucky asked, voice unsure. 

"That… that was your Ma," Steve said, speaking in a low voice so it wasn't as obvious how cracked and broken he sounded. "She said to tell you she loves you very much, and she can't wait to see you again."

Slowly, Bucky's arms snaked around his waist, left arm noticeably weaker than the right. His voice was warm, but still a little hesitant when he spoke. "I can't wait to meet her."  

And this time, Steve broke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D :D
> 
> Weird thing. Beta was all "Ice cream store??? Open in winter???" Well, I was in NYC last December and I went to two ice cream stores! IDK if that's super common but given I went to them I'm assuming it is a thing that does occur! XD So um. YES. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who has been leaving comments. I haven't had the energy to reply to all of them but I am reading them with glee over and over, and clutching my chest like a happy loser <3


	7. Chapter 7

**January**

**_The Church of Lies, Age, Wayward, Disrespect and Immunity (get it?!)_** _-_ by Echolania

_A month or two back it became apparent that a certain, shall we say, cult was as we'd all predicted: a church of lies, abuse, and torture. You couldn't spend a week on The Dark Side without being aware of this particular group and their goings on. While they had many fans, usually idiots if I do say so myself, it probably comes as no surprise to hear that they've been brought in and are being charged with more things than I care to list. About fucking time! *hums Taylor Swift's I Knew You Were Trouble*. You can find the information about the ongoing case_ _here_ _. Their first appearance was in court two days ago, but unfortunately I didn't get a chance to make it in person._

_A particular_ True Master _(whose name I'm_ still _not allowed to say because of The Dark Side's stupid Terms of Service)_ _and his friends have all been arrested and I've been following the case with both horror and glee. I'm glad to see that asshole has finally got what's coming to him. He's been a goddamn problem in the NY scene for years, and he's a monster. But obviously, there's always a part of you that wishes that your fears will remain unfounded, or they won't be as bad as you expect._

_Unfortunately in this case, I was way off base, and in the worst possible way. I'm not going to list all the ways that this "_ True Master _" was a monster; the charges speak for themselves. I'm just going to say: there is no "true" way to do kink. Anyone who tells you there is, is lying. BDSM is not an excuse for abuse. Just because someone has a lot of friends on The Dark Side doesn't mean they know what they're on about. Just because someone has cool writings, or a "family" doesn't mean they know anything about kink. And just because these things exist doesn't mean they're_ safe _. Always vet vet vet! If you don't know how to do that, message me! I'm more than happy to help out new folks and those willing to learn._

_( x-posted to my real blog) _

_(20 January 2018) 203 comments - 447 loves_

FoxyGirl49

_Love this! Yes yes yes! And I hope this "true master" rots in hell._

PacisandPats

_Crumbs to all my friends_

LadyIvana

_I don't know this True Master personally, but his family always seemed so happy. You're just bothered by this man and his beautiful family. Jealousy, methinks. I hope they get justice and compensation for the bullshit they've had to endure._

SassyRat

_Of course you don't believe that there is a "true" way of doing BDSM. It's because you don't really understand the True Way of living BDSM. Those that understand it loved The_True_Master and all that he and his family stood for. It's an abomination that he has been arrested._

Comment deleted by The Mods [Reason: Please don't include names in this discussion! This violates TDS's TOS which can be found  here.]

 

*

 

Bucky perched himself on the cushion in front of Steve, expression uncertain but not scared. Steve had learned to tell the two apart, and it was a valuable thing. Steve didn't put down his notebook straight away, even though he wanted to give Bucky his full attention. It seemed to enforce some stupid dynamic or something. Bucky knelt patiently, not saying a word.

"Hello Bucky," Steve said eventually, putting his notebook down beside him. He watched the number 2 pencil threaten to roll off the edge of the couch over the top of his glasses. When it didn't, he finally drew his eyes back to Bucky.

"Hello Steve," Bucky replied, voice a little breathless with nervousness and something suspiciously like excitement.

"What can I do for you?"

Bucky bit his lip, looking down at the ground and then darting his eyes back to Steve.

"Steve," he started, exhaling and then sucking in a fortifying breath. "Would you please hurt me?"

Steve's first instinct was to respond with an insistence that he'd never hurt Bucky. But Bucky, for all his nerves, also looked _happy_. "I'm going to need more information. Do you feel like you need to be punished again?" Bucky had asked for punishment several times over the last few months but Steve had only followed through on it once, the first time when Bucky had confessed to lying. Bucky's other requests for punishment had been for breaking rules that HYDRA had no doubt set but that Steve didn't care to enforce. This didn't seem like those times though; usually Bucky threw himself into a prostrated position, face pinched with anxiety and eyes pleading for atonement of a sin he had not committed. This? This was something else.

Bucky frowned, looking at Steve's knees temporarily, thinking about his answer. "I like pain. It makes me feel good. I miss pain. I would like you to hurt me, please." His voice was so meek and little. Steve suspected for a moment that the fear he heard in it was not that he was scared of Steve himself, but of being rejected.

He contemplated that. He wanted to say no. Hadn't Bucky been through enough? But Bucky was _asking_. Other than the things Steve had specifically instructed him to ask permission for, Bucky hadn't asked for anything. At all. (He was absolutely not counting asking for punishment). This… Geeze. This was the first thing Bucky had asked for, that he hadn't been told he had to. Steve couldn't punish that by withholding it. He wanted to show Bucky that he was allowed to ask for things.

"You know I won't hurt you as badly as they did, right?" What if… What if Bucky _wanted_ to be hurt the way HYDRA had hurt him? Even with all the best intentions in the world, that wasn't something Steve could stomach. Not even for Bucky.

"I was counting on that, Steve," Bucky said, a twinkle in his eye. (A _twinkle?_ ) It was the closest to the old Bucky he'd seen in a very long time. "But it's not up to me how much pain you think I deserve or don't deserve."

"And if I don't want to give you any pain at all?"

"You make the rules," Bucky said mildly. "If you say no, you say no. That's the rule."

Steve stared at him a little longer, searching. He didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe some sign of instability. Was he trying to self-harm? Or something more nefarious? Or did he really just enjoy it?

The silence seemed to inspire something in Bucky and he asked in a smaller voice, "Am I bad for liking pain?"

Steve had never been the Mom friend, that was for sure, but Bucky brought out in him a sense of protectiveness reserved for little else. And to have Bucky doubting himself was simply not something Steve would tolerate, not on his watch.

"No, no you're not. Everyone enjoys different things, and that's okay. So you like being hurt? Big deal. I like hurting people, within the confines of a safe, sane, and consensual space. That doesn't make me a bad person, same as you're not bad for enjoying it." Steve all but ranted, his words almost forceful. As he spoke, he realized he'd kind of convinced himself too. There _was_ nothing wrong with Bucky enjoying pain. Bucky-before had enjoyed it, had gleefully shown Steve his bruises, had loved being turned into a writhing mess… He'd let _Steve_ turn him into a writhing mess, had let Steve hurt him so beautifully… Damn it.

Bucky looked almost sweet, sitting there in his baggy white tee, looking patiently up at Steve through his eyelashes, a soft little smile on his face.

Goddamnit, Steve had never been able to say no to that face.

"Clear a space in the middle of the room, leaving only the rug," Steve finally sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stood. "Then lay a blanket from the linen closet over the rug, please."

Excitement burst across Bucky's face, eyes widening and mouth falling open in surprise. But then, as if expecting Steve to withdraw the promise if he took too long, he jumped off the cushion and started doing as he was told.

Steve grabbed a footstool from the corner of the room, and pulled it into the middle of the rug before Bucky had the chance to lay the blanket over it. He pushed open the attic access, tugging down a metal chain. There was a beam about four feet above that, structural, that could support a significant amount of weight. When he'd moved in, he'd wrapped the heavy industrial chain around it, just lengthy enough that when he was in his living room a few links would fall into the space. To that, he attached a carabiner and a heavy round suspension ring. Once that was done, he put both hands on it, and swung his entire body from the weight, testing that it was safe. The one-stupid-person test wasn't always reliable, but it would be enough for now for what he had planned.

Once he'd removed the footstool, Bucky rushed in to cover the rug with a soft fleece blanket. He laid it out carefully, making the lines of it meet the edges of the rug perfectly. Bucky hadn't always been such a stickler for tidiness but this new Bucky was; he'd started making Steve's bed recently and the sheets were often tucked in so tightly that Steve had to practically wrestle them out each night.

Steve grabbed his rope bag from beside the television, and laid out a number of hanks, contemplating what to do. Bucky knelt at the edge of the mat once he was done, not stepping onto it without permission. Good, he got points for that.

"Strip off to your underwear," Steve ordered. He would have preferred to ask Bucky his preference, but this was probably still about power. And if Bucky wanted to hurt, it would be easier to hurt him if he had more access to his skin. Besides, Bucky actively preferred not wearing clothes, had even told Steve so at one point. Steve only kept him dressed constantly as a show of power, or so he told himself. Really, it was because it felt wrong to have Bucky wandering around naked. His teenage self would be so disappointed in himself; he'd always loved it when Bucky stripped off his shirt in the summer, had tried so hard not to openly stare.

He'd failed. Many times.

Bucky hurriedly stripped down to his boxer-briefs, folding the sweatpants and tee into a neat little pile at the edge of the mat, and then knelt again. Nervous excitement was all over his face.

"Now, if I'm going to hurt you, I'm going to do it by my rules, okay? I'm not going to hit you, but I am going to make you suffer. It won't hurt in the ways you're expecting, but after I'm pretty sure that you'll have gotten what you needed. If not, we can reassess then. Have you had any water recently?" He knew Bucky had, but it was still part of his negotiation process. Bucky nodded. "Good. Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Bucky paused before shaking his head.

Steve nodded, surveying him, contemplating the tie he wanted to do. He remembered Bucky as he was, but that was not the man kneeling in front of him. He didn't know how flexible Bucky was, what areas might hurt in the bad way. He knew about the arm, knew how to avoid that. He frowned to himself. No, he usually went through all of this with his bottoms, and even if Bucky didn't like the idea of talking through it, he knew he had to.  "Does anything hurt? I want you to go through your body from toes up, feel them out and point to anywhere that hurts."

A little crease appeared between Bucky's eyebrows, but he nodded and looked up at the ceiling, as if that helped him concentrate on running through his body. Finally, he pointed at his left shoulder, circling the air in front of it, and then went down to his left wrist too, circling that too. Steve nodded, and waited to see if there was anything more. But Bucky stopped and looked at Steve, expression expectant.

Steve ran him through a few shoulder movements, checking approximately where the damage was and to what extent he had to avoid it, and then did the same to his wrists. Okay, this was absolutely within his skill range, and mostly meant he'd just avoid putting any weight or tension on that side; easy enough. He got Bucky to grip his hands, checking the strength. He'd known there was weakness there, but wasn't quite prepared for just how pronounced it was in his damaged arm.

"Thank you for telling me. I'll avoid doing anything to that area for now. Are there any areas I can't touch?" He was planning to avoid genitals anyway, but if Bucky had any new places to avoid… He had a lot of bottoms say that touching feet was utterly off limits, and one say that he couldn't touch his hair. He knew from the past that Bucky didn't particularly like his nipples touched in certain ways (firm touches were okay, but soft touches made his skin crawl and break out in goosebumps).

To his total lack of surprise, Bucky shook his head, hair whipping around with the force of it. But Steve fixed him with a look, indicating without words that he wanted Bucky to think about his answer. Bucky's expression was contrite, and he bit his lower lip as he thought things through again. He shook his head, slower this time.

"There's nowhere I can't touch?" Steve confirmed, unsurprised. He suspected Pierce had removed any of Bucky's fears of certain parts of his body being touched, and again had to remind himself that violence was probably _not_ the answer here, that Pierce was still awaiting trial.

Bucky shook his head, no, there was nowhere Steve couldn't touch. Steve sighed inwardly. Well, at least he had an answer. And it wasn't Bucky's fault. So he stepped forward and rubbed Bucky's head, stroking his hair gently. Bucky leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut as a little smile grew on his face.

"Okay, thank you Bucky." He took a step back into the middle of the mat and patted his thigh gently. "Now, come onto the mat." Bucky crawled the small distance between them, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Steve with big, trusting eyes. It made something in his gut twinge, but he tried not to think about it too much. That was the path to destruction. He studied Bucky a little more and then got to his knees, leaning over to grab a hank of rope. He unsnapped it, the jute making a sharp sound. Bucky inhaled sharply, shoulders going up towards his ears, and before relaxing again. The warm smell of the rope met Steve's nose, and he shuffled around behind Bucky.

He took a few slow, deep breaths, centring himself.

Steve erred on the side of rough, grabbing both of Bucky's hands and tugging them to his chest, securing his wrists quickly and easily, the movement second nature to him by now. He then wound the rope around Bucky's shoulders, across the top of his chest, wrapping twice. He adjusted the wraps, making them even, checking the spine, secured the wraps, before doing the same to the space just under his pecs. He absently touched both of Bucky's hands, checking their warmth and taking a baseline measurement. Good, everything was as expected.

He finished the hands-front chest harness, watching Bucky's face as he worked. He was suddenly grateful for his endless hours of practice, those hours of lessons; he didn't have to think too much now, could instead focus on what mattered. Bucky glanced at him, ducked his head, biting his lip again. Steve managed to strangle the sound that threatened to escape. It shouldn't look that good. They'd barely begun and Steve was already a little entranced.

Instead of getting distracted, he went about applying an up-line to the back of the harness, looping it through the ring above them and putting enough tension on it that Bucky was pulled to the balls of his feet. Bucky gasped and then giggled as Steve dragged the rope up.

"How's your shoulder feel?" Steve murmured, getting in close. If he'd done this correctly it wouldn't be putting any pressure where it hurt Bucky, but Steve had fucked up enough times to know to check.

"It's okay, Steve," Bucky said, voice tight. He licked his lower lip again and Steve had to look away.

"Remember, honesty is never bad, but lying gets you in trouble," Steve advised him, putting sternness into his voice lest Bucky believe that he couldn't tell him of something bad.

"No, no, Steve," Bucky repeated. "Feels… Feels good…" He maintained eye contact with Steve the whole time, until Steve finally broke it to glance down at the front of Bucky's underwear. Oh. Already? Wow. Had this been another situation Steve might have flushed, his ego nicely stroked. He wasn't going to think about what that knowledge was doing to him though. That… That was for the shower later, that was.

"Oh… Yeah. Cool…" Steve's voice was deeper than he expected. Shit. Look away, Rogers. Look away. Rope. He. He needed more rope. Okay, rope obtained. Time for the leg tie. He knelt in front of Bucky, wrapping the rope around the top of Bucky's thigh and.

Fuck.

He had _not_ thought this one through… He was eye-level with Bucky's crotch now. His mouth went dry.

He could do this. He just. Had to focus. His eyes zeroed in on the rope, making that his sole focus now. Everything became about that rather than how dark Bucky's leg hair was against his too-pale skin (he needed to get him some sunshine, stat; Bucky had always been tanned, and despite his months of care and some color returning, he remained far paler than was healthy). He wound the rope around and around Bucky’s thighs, bringing his ankle up behind him and securing it to his leg in a simple futo, pointedly looking anywhere except where his eyes were most keen to explore.

Bucky was now standing on one leg, balancing carefully on tiptoe, staring down at Steve. His hair was falling around his face, his breathing a little sharper. Once Steve was satisfied with the leg tie he stood again. He absently touched both of Bucky's hands, yep, still within the realms of acceptable, and then went about attaching a line to the leg tie but not securing it yet. With each yank, Bucky's balance wavered and he gasped, almost losing it. It shouldn't have made Steve smile, but it did, particularly thanks to Bucky's breathy laughs as he struggled to maintain the stance.

He took a step back, folding his arms across his chest. Then he pushed Bucky's chest gently, making him waver again. He pushed a little harder, and Bucky almost lost his balance. On the third shove, he lost it temporarily. The weight went to Bucky's chest, and he gasped at the sudden change before he finally righted himself.

Steve couldn't stop himself smiling, particularly when Bucky all but pouted at him though his mess of hair. He didn't say anything though, just continued looking up at Steve with that glimmer still in his eyes. Steve pushed him again until he lost balance, laughing at Bucky's expressions of indignation. They were quickly schooled into blankness though, and Steve remembered some of the things he'd learned about HYDRA. They wanted perfect silence, to show no suffering, only endurance.

"No," Steve said, bringing his face close to Bucky's. "None of this silence that HYDRA taught you, not unless _you_ want it, okay?"

The eyes that had started to close, enjoyment flashing across his face at times, opened again, widened.

Steve didn't say anything else though, getting behind Bucky to ease the tension off the chest tie. Bucky's foot lowered back to its normal level, and then Steve used a foot to press gently at the back of his upright knee. "Floor," he instructed, lowering Bucky further down, taking his weight as Bucky eventually had to lift his foot off the ground. He gave a soft grunt as the weight went into his chest again until Steve lowered him to his knees.

"Don't worry, we're not done yet. We're just going to even you up a bit." With Bucky balanced all but on the edge of his knee, he secured the free ankle in a simple single-column tie and dragged it up behind him. Steve had been in this tie, knew the pressure it put on the knee and how it stretched the hip. His muscles had ached for days after; his core strength was solid, but this had been a workout and a half. Already Bucky's body was shaking, and he was biting his lip hard now, tiny sounds escaping as he attempted to steady his breathing.

"Told you it'd hurt," Steve said with mostly false smugness, dropping down in front of Bucky. He shuffled himself back to lean against the couch, both arms going behind his head as he reclined a little. Bucky watched him through his hair, struggling against the tie. He'd relax eventually, and his chest would hurt less. That would push his core strength to the limit though, and he'd shift to the chest and knee again. Predicaments were among his favorites, and meant so little work. He got to sit back and watch as his willing victims struggled, pouted, tried to sink into the pose and found no respite. Sometimes he pushed things and got impact toys out, but today was just about learning Bucky, giving him something he'd asked for.

Watching Bucky struggle shouldn't have been as enjoyable as it was, but Steve had long accepted this side of him, leaned into it when he could.

"Hmm," Steve remarked after some time. "I can't see your face very well. This won't do." He shifted across the blanket, bringing a smaller length of rope this time and grabbed a handful of Bucky's hair and twisted it into a makeshift tie. He didn't try to go gently, and heard the smallest whimper from Bucky as he no doubt pulled at his delicate scalp. Happy enough with the hair tie of rope, he wrapped that around the main line, bringing Bucky's head back at a sharp angle and exposing the front of his neck.

"Much better." Steve sank back on his heels, admiring his work when Bucky bit that damn lip again. "Wait. I know how to make this even better." He brought another short rope to Bucky's lips, making eye contact, and when Bucky cautiously opened his mouth, he pulled it around, tying it off at the back of his head. Bucky whined again around the gag, looking up at Steve with wide eyes.

"Perfect," Steve beamed, ruffling the little bits of hair at the top of Bucky's head. "You look so good like that, you know." He reclined against the couch again, using one foot to press against Bucky's chest and push him even further off balance.

"No fair, Steve," Bucky complained around the gag.

"Hey, pal, you asked for this," Steve said nonchalantly. "You literally asked me to hurt you. You complaining?"

"No," was the sulky reply, muffled.

"Good. Was that a 'thank-you' I heard?"

"Yes, Steve. Thank you, Steve." That level of sass was so like the old Bucky that it should have hurt, but instead only gave way to another wave of warmth in Steve's gut. Bucky managed to balance himself again, finally. He was visibly trembling, a faint sheen of sweat covering his body, but his face was alive and delighted.

Steve couldn't stop the grin on his face, and didn't try. Instead, he slowly reached a bare foot out again, watching Bucky's face intently; Bucky's eyes were trained on the foot slowly coming to push him off-balance yet again, widening as it approached with torturous slowness.

And then, he made contact. The sound Bucky made was absolutely worth it.

 

*

 

Parts of Bucky hurt that he didn’t know could hurt. But the hurt wasn’t bad this time. None of the hurt had been bad. It had been there to enhance the experience, keep him both present and far away, but it hadn’t been _bad_. It felt like a memory from long ago, but he couldn’t quite place it. Something about it felt familiar, and right.

He didn’t waste too much of his time on wondering about that feeling though, just attributing it to yet another thing he couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. What mattered was where he was right then, warm, and sore, and safe. He _thought_ he was safe. Maybe he actually was.

There was a warmth below his head, under his chest. Fingers in his hair. Steve’s fingers in his hair. They didn't hurt this time, but he wouldn't have minded the hurt. He liked Steve’s fingers in his hair, even the hurting way, and tried to push up into the touch, to show him that he liked it, that he wanted more. He heard a chuckle above him and preened inwardly. He had made Steve laugh. He was a good boy. He was being a good boy, Steve told him so. He shifted below the soft blanket, hissing softly at the way his legs burned on the right side of enjoyable. It felt nice. It had been a long time since Bucky had put pain and nice in the same sentence together, unless it was separated by a very large _Not_.

Slowly, the happy fuzzy feeling in his mind eased. He didn’t know how long he stayed on the floor under the soft blanket, curled around Steve’s thigh, face buried in the edge of his hip. It could have been minutes, could have been hours for all he knew. He eased himself up onto his elbows and this time, Steve didn’t try to hush him nor try to make him lie back and enjoy the feelings. He blinked dopily up at Steve, giving him a little smile.

“How’re you doing?” Steve asked, voice gentle. Something in it helped maintain the stillness around them. Everything felt soft and clean, like a sunny morning in the countryside after a huge rainstorm.

Bucky gathered the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he sat up a little higher, eyes moving slowly around the room, entranced by some dust motes that danced in front of the windows. He realized after a moment that he’d been staring off into space and that Steve was still watching him, waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat when his first attempt to speak came out as a weak croak. “I’m good. Very good. Thank you.”

“Any time,” Steve said warmly, and some of the tension that Bucky hadn’t noticed in Steve's shoulders eased, face becoming one of relief.

Bucky ducked his head shyly, feeling a thrill of happiness rush through him. Steve said _any time_. Steve wanted to do it again, maybe? Bucky wanted to be a good boy for Steve, to make his Owner proud. He wanted to ask Steve if he’d been good, if he made Steve happy and proud, but fear motivated him not to. Steve never hit him, but that could always change. Master Pierce had been nice at the start too. But he’d always hit Bucky when Bucky asked questions. He said that good slaves didn't ask too many questions, that part of being a good slave was to have total trust that his Master would do what was best for him. Master Pierce had stopped being so nice… Bucky shook away the thoughts. He was happy, he wasn’t going to think about Master Pierce now. His new Owner was much nicer, and Bucky was going to do everything he could to ensure he stayed that way. He wanted to stay with Steve, and keep being his good boy, and that meant not asking questions or doing anything that might upset Steve.

"Wait here, I'm going to get us some water." Now that Bucky wasn't clinging to Steve's thigh, he got up easily, leaving Bucky kneeling on the mat. He heard Steve clinking around with glasses, and he returned shortly with tall cups of water. He handed one to Bucky before sitting beside him again; he was looking at Bucky's face very carefully, and he wanted to hide it away.

But Bucky knew better. Steve must have seen something in his face; or maybe he'd even heard Bucky's thoughts. Steve said Bucky's thoughts were his own, but that didn't mean that Steve couldn't hear them. Regardless, it was okay, because Steve pulled Bucky back into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

He relaxed into the touch, his mind feeling clearer than it had in so long. He felt… He felt good. Calm. He hadn't known what he had been searching for, but he'd found it. Steve kept him secure in his arms for a long time, until all the soft, fuzzy feelings about the world faded. But as they slowly extricated and tried to go about their evening, something felt different. It wasn't bad. Bucky wasn't scared that maybe he'd broken something.

Instead, something felt exactly right. In a way, that was scarier.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for an article at the beginning with victim blaming, and saying that you cannot withdraw consent. YOU CAN ALWAYS WITHDRAW CONSENT, FOLKS.   
> Disclaimer: Any similarity to people on Fetlife is ENTIRELY coincidental. ENTIRELY...........
> 
> Other than that, this is just some sorta-porn with some feelings! :D I guess.... warnings for drool and impact play? IDK man.

**February**

**You Cannot Withdraw Consent.** \- by The_Fox_

_ That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works! _

_ This may earn me vitriolic remarks from feminists, and social justice warriors, but what else is new? Like many of you, I have been following the case regarding Dr. Alexander Pierce and his kink family, HYDRA with keen interest. I've always admired the man, and his writings. As one of the  _ _ most respected psychiatrists _ _ in the country, I found his writings on conditioning submissives fascinating and incredibly useful. It's amazing how certain things can have such a strong effect.  _

_ I've been disappointed to read so much bullshit regarding him and his clan. The consent police have been out in force, preaching this and that.  _

_ Well, I say Nay! BDSM includes  _ risk _ and if you don't like that, then don't engage in BDSM. You don't sign a contract, willingly participate in these acts, and only later scream rape and abuse and torture, as some of HYDRA's slaves are now doing. They  _ consented _ to this; it is not Dr. Pierce's problem that they later regretted it. You  _ cannot _ withdraw consent in circumstances such as these.  _

_ By now you are all aware of the ways I like to play. I don't play with safewords, even during casual play. Once you agree to play with me, the scene is over only when I say it is over. I know from Dr. Pierce's posts that he plays in a similar manner. I know he values the art of negotiation and consent, but that once he has it, that is it. I admire him for that, and when he is no doubt released, I intend to visit him to learn more of his ways.  _

_ (18 February 2018) 456 Comments - 875 Loves _

OneFairMaiden

_ I completely agree Sir. If you play with kink, sometimes you have to be aware that your consent is going to be broken at times. What we do is high risk. You can't just say it's okay and then after the fact say that you'd been brainwashed and blackmailed. This is all so fucking stupid. I've met Doctor Pierce at parties before and he's never been anything but lovely to me. I refuse to believe that he'd do any of the horrible things that the police and so called "victims" are saying. I hope he's okay! Such a nice old man.  _

DaddysLilKittin

_ @OneFairMaiden - ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS? THERE IS VIDEO EVIDENCE THAT HE WAS ABUSING THESE PEOPLE. HE TOOK THEIR PASSPORTS AND SOSIAL SECURITY CARDS. HE TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM THEM AND GASLIGHTED THEM. THAT ISN'T BDSM. THAT IS ABUSE YOU DUMB FUCK. _

DaddysLilKittin

_ *social _

GroßesPenisgesicht

_ Don't you think that, given Doctor Pierce's experience in psychiatry and his deep understanding of the human mind, and his extensive writings on how he manipulates a submissive's mind means he obtains consent in a dubious manner? _

A_Fox_

_ @GroßesPenisgesicht - Not at all. If they fall prey to mind games such as those, then perhaps they deserve what happens. _

GroßesPenisgesicht

_ So are you saying that if you're unwise about his, no doubt subtle, techniques that you deserve to be tortured and raped? _

_ A_Fox_ _

_ @GroßesPenisgesicht - Stop putting words in my mouth. I did not say that. But if that happens, that is not Dr. Pierce's responsibility. It is up to the submissives playing to be aware that sometimes techniques may be used against them. If they're not able to recognize these things, perhaps they need to reconsider their involvement in kink. Dominants are not responsible for gaining consent at every turn. _

GroßesPenisgesicht

_ I rest my case. _

 

*

 

"I want you to hurt me again. Please." 

Bucky added the please as an afterthought, and something in Steve swelled happily. He didn't give a damn if Bucky used his manners. If anything, he was delighted that Bucky was beginning to feel so relaxed around him that he  _ forgot _ to use said manners momentarily. It took another moment for it to register what Bucky had asked for. 

Steve tended to keep Bucky clothed, but there were rare moments when he saw Bucky in little more than underwear, and his eyes searched. The bruises on Bucky's legs had faded to little pale green and yellow marks, barely there and only noticeable because Steve knew exactly where to look. Every time he saw the bare skin, his eyes searched for the marks, seeking, wanting. It was  _ all  _ want, wanting to touch, wanting to see Bucky's face contort in happy pain, hear the breathy sounds he made as he worked through it. He wanted to give that to Bucky again, to stoke the fire in his own chest. 

Steve realized belatedly that he'd been silent for too long, and Bucky's face was slowly falling. 

"Yes, yes, I can do that," Steve assured him hurriedly. 

Bucky's expression, which had been wilting a little under Steve's silence, brightened again, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he started to smile, a little expression that made Steve ache. As much as Steve craved hurting Bucky, he yearned desperately for his smiles, to hear him laugh again. He hadn't heard Bucky laugh in years… There had been a giggle or two the last time they played but laughter seemed out of reach. That would hopefully come in time. 

"Is there anything in particular you're asking for?" Steve asked. "You know the rules, Bucky. If you want something, you have to ask for it." 

That little crease that Steve loved so much appeared between Bucky's eyebrows as he pondered Steve's question. Finally he shook his head, eyes boring into Steve's, big and sincere. Steve had drawn those eyes so many times in high school that it had crossed the line from 'maybe creepy' to 'okay, possible restraining order territory'. Even all these years later he was still entranced. 

"No, Steve. Whatever you'd like. Just… Please?" He looked a little off, now that Steve was really looking, like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. It wasn't obvious, just a little tension here, a tightness in the face that made him almost looked pained, or as if he hadn't slept all that well. 

"Any limits today, Buck?" Steve said, pushing himself out of the couch with a groan at his tired muscles. He set his glasses aside as he contemplated what exactly he'd like to do to Bucky. The last time had gone quite well, and he was thinking he'd like to do something in a similar vein. It hadn't been outright painful so much as a test of endurance, and it had given Bucky what he'd needed last time. But he could introduce a little pain though… Bucky was looking better and better. His ribs were less pronounced, and he had clearly been sleeping better overall if the lack of dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by. 

Bucky slowly shook his head, frowning at the edge of the rug. "No Steve," he said. The way he said Steve's name was with the same reverence as he might say "Sir" and Steve was forever torn between loving it and hating it. He still felt uncomfortable with the label Dominant rather than Top. Were it not for their current situation he wasn't sure he'd have ever crossed into that sphere, and what made him most uncomfortable was how much he  _ enjoyed _ this. He hated what they'd done to Bucky, hated the circumstances that took him into this new world… But the actual act of living with it, and being  _ Bucky's _ Dominant… That stirred something inside of him that he'd never expected or wanted stirred. Perhaps if Bucky had stayed around all those years ago he might have ended up Steve's submissive then… 

"Okay," Steve said, stopping his thoughts before they ran any further away from him. "Go get my rope bag and a blanket. Set the blanket up as you did last time, and lay out ten lengths of the normal length rope, plus three shorter lengths. You'll be able to figure out which are which, I'm sure, given that you're such a smart boy." Bucky's head whipped around to look at Steve in surprise, but then he blushed and smiled. He ducked his head quickly to hide his happy grin. 

Steve had left the suspension point visible after their last play, hadn't bothered to put it away mostly out of laziness. Perhaps a part of his subconscious had wanted this to happen again. He tended to be a little more organized than that usually, and now had the added assistance with daily chores from Bucky. 

Leaving Bucky to organize their space Steve went to his bedroom, opening the part of his closet that he kept most of his toys in. He didn't use them all that often, unlike his rope, so he kept things in there and only brought them out as necessary. His rope had been in almost weekly use, sometimes more, before Bucky had returned, and locking it away had been pointless. Besides, he mostly used these toys in the bedroom anyway. 

He idly touched a few canes, several of his heavier floggers, before finally coming across his quirt. Bucky had liked that the first tie time… Would he still? Steve unhooked it, just in case, grabbing the clover clamps at the same time. His insides twisted and turned but in an oh-so-delicious way. He stroked over a few more things, contemplating, before finally grabbing a small suede flogger. He didn't know if he'd use it but the sensations would be nice nonetheless. He lingered in the bedroom a while longer, listening with a careful ear to the living room. He heard quick shuffling around, and then, silence. Bucky was ready.  

Upon returning to the living room, he found Bucky kneeling in the centre of the mat, hands resting on his bare thighs, chin high and eyes lowered. Steve hated that that was something Pierce had taught him, mostly because in those few moments Steve had considered being a Dominant in the past, that was a thing he might have liked to see. Now Steve felt like changing that behaviour simply to be different from Pierce. 

The ropes were laid out neatly, the larger lengths lining the edge of the mat, the smaller beside them. Bucky's t-shirt and sweatpants were folded on the couch, and the blanket were perfectly aligned as well. Steve crossed the room to increase the radiator heat. The floorboards creaked a little, breaking the otherwise silent stillness. Perhaps he needed to put on some music… He decided not to, preferring the way tension was building in the room. 

He put the items on the opposite side of the mat to the rope, laying them down so Bucky could see them. He knelt behind Bucky, his jeans stretching across his thighs uncomfortably. Too late to change them now, though. Bucky didn't flinch but he did inhale sharply before his shoulders eased down a little more. 

"Look at what is beside you," Steve instructed, voice low. "If you're okay with it being used, I want you to take it and put it beside the rope. Understood?"

Bucky nodded mutely. Then, with alarming deftness, he grabbed everything and placed it neatly beside the rope. Well, uh, that was a good sign. 

"Now, I'll avoid your left shoulder and wrist still. But is there anything else I should avoid, for injury or otherwise? Take your time," he advised, shifting closer behind Bucky before stilling himself. 

Bucky was silent for several long moments before he shook his head again. Steve sighed internally, but tried not to berate himself. Bucky was doing well, so much better. It hadn't been that long since their last play, and he still had an extremely long way to go. He was doing good. 

"Okay. Remember your safe words?" He ran Bucky through his usual negotiations, while sitting behind him, his chest inches from Bucky's naked back. This close, he could see the scars, and he ached to touch them and ease the no doubt incredible pain that had caused them away. But this was not about soothing that pain away, but rather giving him another kind to help whatever was going through his mind. His presence at Bucky's back was already putting Bucky in his place, and Steve was a little nervous that perhaps this was the wrong decision. But he'd asked the most important things first, and he had to trust that this was right. Moreover, he had to trust his gut. It  _ felt _ right, like little else ever had. 

Their negotiations done, Steve started rolling his shoulders back, stretching his neck. He threw several ideas around his mind, pondering what he'd like to do, what might give Bucky what he needed. A part of him was tempted to try and recreate their first scene, but a louder part of him knew that was foolish and would only result in hurt. 

He checked Bucky's hands for warmth, and his stomach fluttered happily when Bucky squeezed back. He unwound his rope, running it unconsciously through his fingers to straighten the lengths, and then quickly secured Bucky's hands to his chest, followed by his upper arms. Bucky's back was forced into a slight arch, and his head fell back against Steve's shoulder. Already Bucky was breathing harder, eyes shut. 

Once his arms were bound, Steve grabbed the red and black cotton cloth, tying it over Bucky's eyes and nose. He was careful not to catch Bucky's hair in the knot as he snapped it shut. That done, he threaded his fingers through Bucky's hair and tugged just slightly, guiding his head around, not in any particular direction but just because he could. A small sound escaped Bucky's mouth, one that Steve was certain was a happy sound. 

The way Bucky went so pliant and sweet under his touch did things to Steve that he dared not think about. So Steve didn’t, instead focussing on what he intended to do. Bucky had asked for something, and Steve intended to deliver if for no other reason than to reward Bucky for asking for something he wanted, rather than just needed. 

He made quick work of the chest harness, and attached it to the ring, bringing Bucky onto his toes as he had last time. What followed was a quick and dirty hip harness, designed to ease the weight rather than be the sole bearer of it. That too went up, tension on the rope but not carrying him yet. Finally, he grabbed Bucky's thigh, throwing a single-column around it and lifting his leg behind him. The ankle went with it, arching Bucky's back further. He whimpered at the stretch, but otherwise seemed fine. 

He followed with the other ankle, bringing some of the weight into Bucky's hips before he got him entirely off the ground. He went up smoothly, Steve drawing his ankle back so that Bucky's legs were spread, his body in something akin to a backbend. It was one of Steve's favorite ties and Bucky looked incredible in it. 

With Bucky's ankle locked off, he stepped back, watching. Bucky shifted a little, fighting the sensations, fighting the rope. It was a lot to handle, despite the slow build up. Steve didn't say anything; how Bucky got through his scene was up to him. But fighting the rope was one sure way to make it hurt. Maybe that was exactly what Bucky wanted. After about thirty seconds of squirming uncomfortably, he finally gave up, relaxing. He went very still. Steve knew that moment, a moment many bottoms took some time to learn, but never stopped loving. It was the moment when the pain changed, when the rope settled, and they realized that it wasn't hurting anymore. It was the moment when it all went quiet. 

Steve always let them enjoy that moment, because unless it was a nice, sensual scene, it was a respite before things got a hell of a lot worse. But that was usually why people asked Steve to play. They knew what he was like, and what they were in for if they asked for him to top them. Steve had a reputation, after all, and it was one he was justly proud of. He was known for his creatively cruel rope, one that stretched bodies into difficult positions, that brought people to edge of what they thought they could handle, and then eased them back down. Most of all, he had a reputation for being safe. This was the one he was most proud of. 

He moved around Bucky, cursing himself a little for covering his face with the tenugui. He wanted to see it, wanted to see the effect he was having. He also wanted to be sure that he was actually as calm as he seemed and not just dissociating. 

"You okay in there?" Steve asked softly, bringing his face close to Bucky's ear, his breath making a few of Bucky's hairs move. Bucky nodded, his movements slow and lazy despite his haste to assure Steve he was okay. Something untwisted in Steve's stomach. 

He brought his hands back to Bucky's body, running his hands along his arms and squeezing his hands. They were still pleasantly warm, and well within the realms of normal. Bucky shivered under his touch, particularly when Steve moved from firm hands to dragging two of his nails along Bucky's skin. Pink lines appeared on pale skin. His heart beat harder, his mouth in desperate need of moisture. 

Bucky was still and silent, his breath steady. Steve was willing to place money on his face being peaceful, and wished again that he could see it. Next time. No more blindfolds for Bucky, that was his new rule. At least he'd had the foresight to leave his mouth visible, and could see his pink, almost swollen lips; he'd been biting them. Fuck. An errant thought occurred to him of how much  _ Steve  _ wanted to bite them, but he shoved it down. No, that was not what this was about. 

He leaned across the rug and picked up the soft flogger. Bucky's head moved slightly, listening to the movement as Steve started swinging it around, getting a feel for the movement. To his relief, Bucky didn't tense however, and instead seemed to relax even further into the tie. With a few gentle flicks of the wrist, he let the edges of the flogger brush the outside of Bucky's thighs and ass. Bucky didn't react; that was okay. If he reacted strongly on those first few hits then Steve would have been concerned. 

He increased the frequency of the hits, and then finally the intensity, building up a soft pink glow on Bucky's skin. Every so often Bucky made little sounds, ones that sounded closer to pleasure than pain, but would bite his lip quickly, as if sound was a punishable offense. Maybe it had been. On the third or fourth hit, Steve stopped his ministrations and knelt down beside Bucky. He gripped his hair tightly and pulled Bucky's face up towards his. 

"Don't hold back," Steve breathed in his ear. "I told you last time... I like your sounds. And if I get the impression you're holding back, I'll stop." Bucky whimpered. It sent blood to places in his body that he really didn't want it in right then. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself what this was about, and shelved that feeling to deal with another time. God, he was practically on a hair-trigger; it had definitely been too long since he'd gotten laid. 

He stood back up, swinging the flogger with a looser grip this time, rolling his shoulders out and relaxing. Bucky stopped holding back; he had never seemed particularly loud from when Steve had seen him play previously, but he at least allowed his reactions to be seen now. Steve used them to guide him, increasing the intensity as needed and dialling back in turn. Once he was satisfied that Bucky was in the place he wanted, that he was warmed up enough, Steve laid the flogger down and grabbed the quirt.

The quirt was always a favorite of his, one of his most effective toys. It wasn't his most popular, thanks to the evil cracking it made, the vicious stinging sensations. But there was something special about it, and one he was always too happy to bring out when cheeky masochists insisted they try it. 

He walked around to Bucky's front, digging his fingers into the blindfold, loosening it enough that he could yank it off, jerking Bucky's head with it. Bucky moaned happily, eyes fluttering open. His eyes were glazed, but he gave Steve a little smile, proving that his dissociative episodes and subspace looked very different. Shit. Steve couldn't look away. He was so fucked. This was a terrible idea. Was it too late to put the blindfold back on? With immense difficulty, he dragged his eyes away from Bucky's face.

Instead of worrying, he grabbed one of his smaller ropes, and a handful of Bucky's hair, and threaded it through like he did last time, pulling his head back by the hair. It took a minute or so for him to secure Bucky's hair to the mainline, the softness slipping too easily through his rope. Then he held the quirt up for Bucky to see. Bucky's eyes widened and mouth dropped open a little. 

He didn't hold back on the first hit, and Bucky gasped but didn't react much beyond that. With a little grin Steve flicked his wrist again, the quirt making a sharp cracking sound, the marks on Bucky's skin rising almost instantly. Bucky gasped, taking the pain easily. Steve kept him there for a little bit before increasing again. Once Bucky was breathing harshly through clenched teeth, Steve eased off. 

"I have a suspicion you're still holding out on me, Buck," Steve all but crooned, kneeling beside Bucky again. He rested a hand against his cheek, fingers brushing the dampening hair at his temples. Bucky blinked at him groggily, that damn little smile lighting up his face in ways that it really shouldn't. "But that's okay. I have an idea. Tongue," Steve demanded, hand in front of Bucky's mouth. 

Without hesitation Bucky stuck it out, his desperation to be good for Steve seeming to win over anything else. Steve dug his fingers into Bucky's tongue, making him whimper. He looked up at Steve with desperate eyes. Steve snapped the clover clamps onto Bucky's tongue with a grin, making him whine again. 

Steve sat back on his heels, surveying the image. 

"That's a good look on you, Buck."

Bucky gave a wet laugh, tongue dangling out of his mouth, weighed down by the heavy metal chain. He blinked a few times, confusion registering on his face before he seemed to visibly shake it away. The shaking of his head made the chain to move and he whimpered through a laugh. 

A laugh bubbled out of Steve, lightness filling his chest. He felt giddy with relief, even if he didn't know why. He flicked the quirt at Bucky's thigh again. Bucky flinched at the hit, jerking the chain again, his sound of pain lost in his giggle. Steve did it again, and again, keen to get that response from him over, and over. He was grinning widely by the time Bucky's breathing harshened. 

Each time Bucky went to lower his head, it pulled at the tie in his hair, making it difficult, painful even. He kept shifting, trying to get comfortable. Drool pooled over the clamp on his tongue, a small puddle below him. He tugged at his hair, shifted more and more uncomfortably and looking stressed until he'd look at Steve again and relax. He finally settled again, quiet, blinking almost sleepily at the space before him. He was shaking; while Steve knew some people had the ability to stay in rope well beyond that point he wasn't about to risk it. Bucky had done so well but it was time to bring him down.

He placed the quirt on the ground and knelt again, ignoring that he could feel some of the drool soaking through his jeans. When he eased the clamp away, Bucky gave a louder cry than he had during any of the hits. Steve chuckled, gently unfastening the rope on his head and cradling Bucky's head against him when it drooped, no longer being held up by the rope. 

He untied Bucky and eased him gently to the ground. The room was silent aside from the creak of jute, Bucky's breathing so quiet that Steve had to look at him to confirm he was still indeed doing so. His eyes had fallen closed, and he looked peaceful against the soft gray blanket. Steve didn't bother with more torture rope, recognizing that face. He wanted to keep him peaceful, and instead just worked on getting the rope off. Once he was surrounded by a puddle of rope, Steve pulled the blanket off the rug and wrapped it around him, bringing Bucky's floppy body into his lap. 

Bucky purred as he snuggled in closer to Steve. Steve exhaled, letting the buzz of the scene wash over him. Now that Bucky was on the ground, was safe, was apparently okay, Steve could truly breathe. Here he could just enjoy the sensations, the memories that he hoped he could keep without feeling weighed down by loss. 

Slowly, Bucky came too. Steve didn't know how long it had been, didn't really give a damn anyway. He would happily stay there all day and all night if it meant this got to continue. It didn't matter that his leg had long gone numb, that even the pins and needles had faded. He had Bucky back, had made Bucky look like that, feel that. He had given Bucky that, but Bucky had given him so much more.

Steve tried really hard not to think about it. Later. Later, Rogers. 

Bucky pushed himself up with aching slowness, blinking dazedly at Steve. 

"How're you feeling?" Steve asked, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, thumbing over his jawline without thinking about it, stubble rasping under his touch. 

Bucky nodded, giving him a dopey smile. Without Bucky across his legs now Steve was able to lean over to the coffee table, shoved in the corner beside the sofa. It would have made him feel better to have more water than the half-drunk cup, but it would do for now. Bucky took the glass from him, taking a few cautious sips. His hands trembled with the fading adrenaline, and Steve's hand hovered to catch the glass should it slip.

"Was that okay?" Steve didn't want to bombard him with questions but it was always good to debrief. Had he pushed too hard? Too far? It would help bring Bucky back properly too, getting him to talk even a little. 

Bucky nodded quickly, tousled hair flying with the haste and intensity of the movement. Steve gave him a tired grin, and sat back, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows on them. There was stilted conversation for a few minutes, Steve running through the scene and checking in with various things. It always helped him to run back through things. 

Bucky was still smiling dopily still when Steve asked, "You looked confused at one point. Do you want me to explain something?" 

Bucky cocked his head, trying to pull up the memory, what Steve was referencing. He opened his mouth with a silent gasp, frowned at the ground. "I thought I remembered something. But it didn't make sense. Have… Have we done this before?"

The bottom of Steve's stomach dropped. He'd half-hoped, but now that Bucky had remembered part of it he wasn't sure what to do with it. Finally he settled on, "Yes, we have. I was trying to stick to things I knew you liked last time." 

Bucky blinked a few times, staring into the space in front of him as if there was a small movie playing there. "Were we… Were you my old Master?"

He felt like crying, and his laugh sounded as rough as he felt. "No. No we weren't."

"But we were something," Bucky pressed on, eyes darting around as he seemed to be searching his mind frantically for the file that contained those memories. "We were something, right? I… I remember… something…" He sounded upset, on the edge of desperate. 

A sad smile was all Steve could manage. "We weren't. But we might have been." 

This didn't seem to upset Bucky, but nor did it ease his confused frowning. He just kept staring at the invisible movie playing before his eyes as if he hoped it might finally give him answers or some of the gaps might miraculously fill. Steve had to look away, the heaviness of the past weighing on him. 

"Is it okay if I go and make some tea?" He asked finally, needing some space to just breathe but nervous about leaving Bucky alone. He took aftercare seriously, and if it would make Bucky feel safer, he would strap Bucky to his back so he didn't have to spend a single second alone if he didn't want to. 

But Bucky nodded, still not really seeing Steve, trapped in his search of a memory Steve feared he'd never find. 

"If you would like my presence, you have permission to come into the kitchen and ask for a hug."

In the kitchen, Steve fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. He put the kettle on the stove, something he didn't often do. It was usually faster to just boil the water in the microwave, particularly if it was just for himself. But his Mom had always used this kettle (literally, this kettle; she'd given it to him when he'd moved out of home despite his insistence that he didn't need one, he had a microwave) to make tea for him when he was unwell, or upset. Now it was something he really only touched in those circumstances. Something about the act of the whole preparation soothed him. 

He stood at the stove, listening to the quiet hiss of burning gas, trapped in his thoughts. Bucky… remembered? Bucky remembered  _ something _ , even if he didn't know what? Steve had tried not to think about Bucky's memory, now always erring on the side of caution after Bucky's visit to the ice-cream store. What if Bucky never remembered anything? He'd been prepared for that. He'd been preparing for it simply being the case that Bucky had lost everything, and Steve hoping otherwise was a lost cause. But now, faced with the idea that maybe Bucky would remember was even more terrifying. 

Something inside him was slowly splitting but he wasn't sure what it was, or where it was, or how to stop it. He… He just needed a minute. He just had to breathe, to shove it back in its box. Just a minute. 

But he was tired, and his body was still thrumming with adrenaline and maybe a little panic. His heart felt faster than it had before, but he forced air through gritted teeth. He was fine; it was just a bit of drop. It had to be drop. Steve admittedly didn't usually get drop, unless it was a particular kind of scene… And okay, this one fulfilled that criteria, but  _ Steve didn't get drop _ . And if he did, he would work through it because Bucky needed him. He'd deal with it  _ later _ . His hands gripping the edge of the counter were shaking, and he glared down at them as if his fierce expression might force them into submission 

He just needed to sit down. It would be fine. He just was feeling a little shaky from the drop in adrenaline, not because he was overwhelmed at the idea that Bucky might remember, might remember _them_. Slowly he sank back against the cabinets, resting his forehead on his knees and burying his head under his arms. He just had to close his eyes. 

He didn't know how long he sat there, but it couldn't have been long because the kettle wasn't whistling furiously at him. But he felt Bucky beside him, shoving himself between Steve's stomach and thighs, wrapping his arms around him. 

"Buck?"

"I wanted a hug," Bucky said, voice muffled against Steve's stomach. 

Steve wasn't sure he believed him, but he wasn't going to argue. Bucky tightened his arms around him, and Steve held him right back. 

"I'm okay, pal," Steve said when the kettle started to screech at them. If it weren't for the damn kettle Steve may have been tempted to sit on that floor forever, Bucky held as close to him as physically possible. "Promise."

"Lies are breaking the rules, Steve."

Steve couldn't stop the small laugh that wetly escaped him. 

Steve pinched Bucky's bare upper thigh gently, regrettably extricating himself slowly, if only to get on his knees, turn the burner off, and sink right back to where he was. "Those rules are for  _ you _ , Buck, not me." 

The hum from Bucky indicated what he thought of that, and Steve was too tired to argue. Rather than doing that, he just let Bucky hug him tightly, and held onto something he couldn't name. 

 

*

 

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Bucky asked as he knelt beside the table. He had tried to be quick in the shower, but his hair had been more knotted than he'd thought. He wanted Steve to fix it, but something was wrong with Steve and he didn't want to upset Steve more. So he carefully combed the tangles out, wincing at each pull on his scalp. It hadn't felt nice, like when Steve did it. 

By the time he'd emerged Steve had prepared dinner. The slave, no,  _ Bucky  _ tried not to feel bad about it. It didn't matter that he'd cooked the meal that Steve had reheated, dinner was  _ Bucky's  _ responsibility. Steve had given him something so wonderful, always gave him wonderful things, and it was the least Bucky could do to make him dinner. 

But Bucky wouldn't disobey a direct order and Steve had ordered him to shower. 

Steve jolted a little when Bucky knelt beside him. His expression still seemed sad, and far away. Bucky didn't know where he was, but he wanted Steve back here, with him. Bucky liked touching Steve, a lot. He wanted more of the touches, more hair stroking. He wanted to bury his face in Steve's lap again. But Steve didn't seem like he wanted it. 

"Wha?" 

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Steve?" Bucky repeated. "Please." He didn't want Steve to be alone. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did. He had to make sure Steve was okay. He didn't know what sleeping beside Steve would do, but maybe if Steve needed anything in the night, Bucky could provide it. What if Steve needed a hug? Maybe Bucky could somehow keep Steve safe? 

Steve was staring at him, but Bucky knew better than to look away. He met Steve's gaze, unflinching. Steve seemed sad. Bucky was definitely doing the right thing. 

"Is… That something you want?" Steve asked slowly. He was frowning, but didn't seem angry. Just confused. 

Bucky nodded sharply. "Yes, please." 

"Sure…"

Satisfied with that, Bucky nodded again and looked down at his meal. Steve hadn't told him he could eat, but given the faraway look on Steve's face and how he was staring a hole in his own plate, he wasn't sure Steve would remember. He didn't want to bother Steve, but Steve liked him to eat… He fidgeted, trying to decide what to do. 

Steve would want him to eat, he decided. So, eyes flicking back to Steve every other second, he grabbed his fork and began to eat. Halfway through, Steve finally seemed to come a little back to reality. 

"Oh, shit! You can… eat…" He trailed off as he realized Bucky had just taken another bite of food. Bucky's eyes widened, terrified he'd done the wrong thing. Instead of anger though, Steve's face broke into a large grin, one that could only be described as relief. "You started. That's great work, bud. I'm so proud of you. That was exactly the right thing to do. I'm. Sorry. I'm just tired I suppose." He rubbed at his face. "I'm gonna shower, okay?"

Bucky nodded, fork still in his mouth. He watched Steve stumble to the bathroom, before hurriedly finishing his meal. Steve hadn't given him orders but Bucky was learning more and more that Steve liked it when Bucky did things preemptively. Steve didn't always have to tell him what to make for dinner, as long as Bucky made it. Steve didn't have to tell him to shower, as long as he was clean. And now, Steve didn't have to tell Bucky to clean up and get things ready for bed. Bucky would be a good boy and do it, get it all ready for Steve so that when he emerged from the shower he wouldn't have to worry about a thing. 

He scurried around, suddenly grateful for his strict training. He knew how to do things efficiently, and gracefully, so that by the time he heard the bathroom door open and Steve's quiet footsteps on the floorboards, he'd washed the dishes, shut off most of the lights, dragged his bed in beside Steve's, and was kneeling at the edge of the big soft mat at the foot of Steve's bed. He'd even adjusted the radiator so that it was warmer for Steve. 

Steve blinked dazedly as he stepped into the bedroom; only the lamps on the nightstand remained on, and it made Steve's skin glow golden. Bucky had a very beautiful Owner, one he often felt overwhelmed with pride to serve. Steve wasn't just beautiful though, but kind, and thoughtful. He said that Bucky was  _ his _ and  _ precious _ and he looked after Bucky. Even when he hurt Bucky, he made sure it was the nice hurt. He didn't know how long he'd yearned for that, but something told him he'd longed for something like that for forever. 

"Right," Steve muttered to himself. "You're sleeping in here tonight…" 

Bucky tried not to let his expression fall, even as his stomach plummeted. Had… Had he done the wrong thing? 

"Oh no, no, Buck, it's okay! I want you here! I just forgot is all," Steve hurried to assure, taking two large steps towards Bucky. Bucky gave him a weak smile, determined not to ask for, nor need any comfort. Steve went onto one knee before him, cupped his face as he did so often now. "I'm happy to have you in here. Thank you for getting everything ready for bed. I'm wrecked and it's nice not to have to worry about anything." His eyes met Bucky's and despite his desire to not need assurance, the words were still nice. He'd been a good boy for Steve. 

Bucky returned his smile, nuzzling quickly against the large hand before sitting back. Steve looked around, eyes falling on the rope that he used each night to tie Bucky to the sofa. His smile widened and he quickly secured the knot around the little metal ring on his collar, tying the other end to the foot of his bed. He petted Bucky's hair again before climbing into his bed. 

"You don't want to sleep up here?" Steve asked as he pulled the blankets over himself. 

That hadn't even crossed his mind; now he was torn. To sleep in bed? With  _ Steve _ ? That felt like too much, too much to ask. Steve had already given him so much today and he didn't want to be greedy. He shook his head despite the now raging war inside his head. 

"No, thank you, Steve," he said, climbing into his own bed and wrapping the fluffy blankets around himself. He had replaced his soft blanket with one from Steve's bed, and it smelled like Owner, soothing and strong and safe. 

Steve leaned over and switched the lamp light off, petting the top of Bucky's head again from the bed. A chorus erupted in his chest and mind, delighted at the touch. 

"Okay. Sleep well, bud." Steve's voice was thick with fatigue already. 

"Good night, Owner," Bucky whispered, a huge grin on his face. His muscles ached and some of his skin stung from where the rope had dragged, the toys had hit or Steve had scratched. He hurt, and Steve had hugged him  _ so much _ , and now he was getting to sleep beside his Owner. He was the happiest slave ever. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bajillion and one thanks to my emergency beta [emptydistractions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions). You should go check out her SAUBB too ;)

**March**

**_TUFF POST - CRIME AND JUSTICE - 04/03/2018 1:42pm ET_ **

**_Judge Rejects Dr. Alexander Pierce's Push To Remove Court Case_ **

_ NEW YORK (AP) -  A New York judge has declined to dismiss charges against high-profile psychiatrist Dr. Alexander Pierce on Monday, and rejected several bids to have his indictments thrown out.  _

_ Judge Evan Andreotti's ruling has come amidst troubles from several hospital boards, including New York-Presbyterian Hospital, Mount Sinai Hospital, and the NYU Langone Medical Center, all of which claim that several staff members have come forward in recent months regarding allegations of sexual misconduct from Dr. Pierce. This case has been lead by several government organizations, including the CIA and FBI, with an as yet undisclosed organization at the helm.  _

_ Prosecutors insist that the case remains strong, citing hours of video footage, thousands of pages of documentation, victim impact statements, and at least three victim testimonies. _

_ Dr. Pierce has denied all allegations of rape, sexual assault, aggravated assault, cult activity, and human trafficking. He pleaded not guilty and was denied bail.  _

_ "We intend to defend this case to the best of our ability," Arnim Zola, lead defense lawyer for Dr. Pierce's case, told reporters following the hearing.  "We have more than enough evidence to support that all acts engaged in by the witnesses were in fact consensual, and that they simply regretted their actions after the fact. It is unfortunate that it comes at the time of the #MeToo movement. What may have been a simple case of regret after consensual sexual intercourse has been blown hugely out of proportion."  _

_ Zola has said on several occasions that movements such as #MeToo, a movement associated with ending sexual violence, are damaging to victims, as they blur the lines between consent and lack thereof.  _

_ "This has been a win for us today," Agent Phil Coulson of the undisclosed government organization said after the dismissal of the appeal. "We are going forward with this, and have more than enough evidence to ensure that HYDRA and its associates are put away for a very long time." _

_ When asked if he was in favor of the #MeToo movement, Coulson said: "Yes; it's wonderful that people are finally able to seek justice. I'm just disappointed that it had to reach this point for justice to even be a possibility. We're better than that."  _

_ Court will reconvene in late May or early June, with a date to be set later this week.  _

_ Know someone who needs help? Visit the [National Sexual Assault Online Hotline](https://www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-telephone-hotline) _ _  or the [National Human Trafficking Hotline](https://humantraffickinghotline.org/) _ _.  _

*

 

Bucky ached for it. He needed it more than anything else in the world, more than air, more than… 

Bucky realized through the haze in his mind that he was begging, pleading with Steve. He pulled himself short and choked off his words, staring up at Steve through lidded eyes, breathing heavily. The rope cut into his chest, the sensitive inner flesh between his thighs, and his shins. His cock throbbed. There was nothing more he wanted in this world than for Steve to take him, use him, make him his. 

"I'm not going to do that to you, Buck," Steve said firmly, voice straining on the last few words. His cheeks were flushed and his hair looked like he'd run his hands through it a number of times. 

Bucky felt like he'd been hit in the stomach. He wasn't good enough to have anything done to him. He wasn't good enough for Steve's use. He’d failed Steve.

"Please," he tried again, remembering how much Master Pierce had liked for him to beg and plead. "Please, you can do anything. Anything you want. Please, you can hurt me more, I'll be good. Please jus-"

"Bucky!" Steve's harsh voice cut off his pleas. "Be quiet. I'm not going to do anything to you that we haven't already agreed on, not while you're like this." He sounded frustrated. 

Bucky choked on a sob he hadn't known was in his throat. He swallowed, blinking hard to stop the tears in his eyes. His Owner was mad at him, and Bucky was being punished, surely. He inhaled sharply and nodded, seemingly agreeing with Steve. He'd just do better next time. He could do better. He  _ would _ do better. 

"Do you want to come down?" Steve asked, running gentle fingertips across his face. Bucky leaned up into the touch and sighed. He wasn't sure if he was happy or sad. His body still thrummed with  _ want, need, please touch, please _ . 

"Up to you, Owner," Bucky said, not really aware of the words slipping out as he let his eyes close again. If Steve wanted to leave him up there for longer he would take it. His right shoulder hurt a little, but it wasn't bad. His inner thigh hurt more, really; it was where most of the weight rested and the rope cut in deeply. Distantly, he heard Steve sigh, and then he felt movement at his feet. Steve was going to bring him down. He was unable to stop the little sound of disappointment from escaping his mouth, and he realized belatedly that he didn’t want to come down. But just as he was expecting to feel his body lower, Steve dragged the rope up through the ring. The metallic sound of it rang in the air. 

It brought his knee up high, making his shins twinge in discomfort before his body adjusted and the weight transferred back to his inner thigh. Bucky cried out in momentary pain, breathing heavily. He was entirely off the ground now, suspended just by one leg, ankle tied to the back of his thigh. Steve had put the hitches on his shins and they dug in hard this time. Bucky relaxed, noticed the pain ease, and fought the rope again, desperate for more. He didn't know what he liked about the shin pain, but to say he did like it was putting things politely. He swung around and all the blood in his body rushed to his head. When he opened his eyes he saw the tips of his hair brushing the blanket below him, inches away from his face. 

"I decided you that if you have it in you to beg, you have it in you for more," Steve whispered into his ear. Bucky shivered involuntarily. Steve's hands squeezed his and Bucky squeezed back, remembering something about that being important. Steve released his hand and ran two fingers under the wraps around his wrist, making sure they sat right and weren't digging in too badly. 

Master Pierce had never done that. Master Pierce had not been careful with his possessions. 

Owner was being good; checking that his hands were okay, checking in with him. It made a new kind of warmth fill his stomach. The feeling of being cared for washed over him, overwhelming his desperation. He felt a shift in the chest harness and instinctively he exhaled, letting his body relax. Steve picked another rope off the ground, winding it through the back of his chest harness to pull Bucky’s back into a sharp bend. It hurt his hips more than his back; but Bucky had been doing his exercises every day and settled again. 

The distress stopped with the arrival of pain and a deeper sense of peace washed over him. His head felt full. Steve wrapped a rougher than usual piece of rope around his face, twisting it over his eyes, nose and into his mouth. Bucky hummed happily. He wanted to beg Steve for  _ moremoremore _ , but he found himself unable to speak. His mind was so quiet suddenly. Through lidded eyes he watched the way his hair swished and moved across the blanket. 

Everything felt soft and distant, but not in the bad way like it used to be. He felt warm. 

"How you doing there?" Steve asked. His voice was so far away. 

"Mmm," Bucky hummed happily, hoping it was answer enough for Steve. He felt good. The desperate arousal from before had faded, leaving him with only peace, quiet, and a gentle ache in his body. 

"Can you take more?"

Bucky nodded slowly, feeling sleepy and dopey. More was fine. More of this was great. He wanted much more, but he felt so good, so _ soft _ that he couldn't really get the words out. He heard Steve shuffling around and felt a shift in the air around him. 

"Look at me?" 

Bucky managed to squint through the strands of rope across his eyes. Steve was lying on the ground below him, face only inches from Bucky's. Steve buried his fingers in Bucky's hair, gripping firmly. Bucky was pretty sure he went cross-eyed with it, mouth falling open in pleasure. His gasp sounded distant to his own ears. 

Steve was grinning at him wryly when he managed to drag his eyes open again. 

"I don't know what it is about you in my rope that looks so good but… I'm a fan." Steve's voice was rough; or maybe it was just the blood pumping in Bucky's ears. Steve’s other hand trailed up Bucky's shoulder, brushing against the rope around his chest. His short nails dug into Bucky’s nipples and twisted. Bucky's whine felt weak in his mouth, but he wasn't capable of much more. 

He successfully dragged his heavy eyes open again, blinking blearily at Steve. Steve was close, so close. Bucky's lips felt tingly and swollen. He wondered what it would be like for Steve to kiss them. It had been a very long time since the slave had wanted kissing. He'd hated it with the Masters. It didn't happen very often and he didn't remember much of it, but what little he could recall turned his stomach. It hadn't been nice kissing; slimy and wet and invasive. He bet kissing Steve would be  _ very _ nice and he yearned for it as badly as he yearned for Steve to claim him, to cut open his underwear and fuck into him. But words were hard right now, and Steve had said no. And Bucky was his good boy; he wasn't going to ask for anything. 

Steve was watching him, but Bucky could barely make out his face. He attempted a smile to let Steve know he was happy, but he wasn't sure it worked. All he could hear was the thumping of blood in his ears and he wondered if a head could explode from all the blood in it. The pain in his shins and inner thighs was a distant throb. His cock was still hard, but he'd all but forgotten it. 

His smile must have worked because Steve smiled back and gave him a look that could only be described as 'soft'. "Okay, I think it's time to come down now," Steve whispered, like the peace Bucky felt was extending to him too, and he was scared to break it with words. 

Bucky hummed and nodded, letting his eyes slip shut again. He expected to feel the face rope go first, but it was instead the sharp backbend that eased, followed by Steve very gently lowering the leg tie. Steve dropped to one knee, one hand still on the rope, the other cradling Bucky as he eased him to the ground. The world felt funny, weird, strange, as the blood left his head and returned to the rest of his body. He barely noticed Steve carefully easing off the leg tie, the face rope, the chest harness. It was like he was caught in the space between awake and asleep, not quite in either realm. 

When he became more aware of things again, he felt a hot hand through the fleece of the blanket. Bucky’s cheek against Steve's thigh also felt uncomfortably hot, but the rest of him was cold to the bone. He shuddered, curling in tighter to Steve, wanting more warmth. Steve rubbed a hand over his back. When Bucky shivered again and made an attempt to crawl under Steve's skin, Steve shuffled them so that Bucky was cradled in his arms. It felt strange given he was almost Steve's size, but more than that it felt nice, safe, warm. 

Steve was murmuring things to him. nothing in particular; just telling him that he was a good boy, that Steve was proud of him. 

He'd been good for Owner. 

His eyes snapped open and he gasped, shame rippling through him. He'd… He'd begged Owner for things that Owner didn't want to give. That  _ Steve _ didn't want to give. Bucky had been more than willing, and that… The Masters had called him a desperate little slut so many times. Bruce and Steve said they were wrong about so many things, but maybe they'd been right about this one. Steve may be his Owner but that didn't mean he wanted Bucky like  _ that.  _

He huddled in closer to Steve, wishing that he could sink into Steve's skin, wishing the anxiety and shame would disappear. His cheeks flamed, and he tried to burrow into that soft place from before, but it was scorched away by his humiliation and regret. 

Owner was a good owner though. Maybe if he asked for it  _ before _ next time, Owner would be willing? No, no, he couldn't ask that. If Steve had wanted to, Steve would have taken him already. That was his right as Bucky's Owner, and Bucky's duty as his slave to accept it. It was a duty he was all too willing to do. It had nothing to do with being property and everything to do with Steve. It was more than wanting to thank Steve with his body. No, it was  _ much _ more. He just wanted Steve to touch him all over, wanted to touch  _ Steve _ all over, wanted more touching, everywhere, all the time. The feelings were warm, and burning, and flipping his insides even as his shame twisted them. 

"Thank you," Bucky breathed when Steve finally drew away to look at him. He smoothed Bucky’s hair out of his face with one hand. 

"You're welcome, bud," Steve said, shifting Bucky a little on his lap, spreading his thighs further and letting Bucky settle between them. Against his side, Bucky felt something hot and hard, and ducked his head to hide a secret smile. Owner  _ did _ like him, it seemed. 

 

*

 

Steve waited a few days to talk to Bucky about the scene. He needed to be sure that neither of them were dropping and that they were both in emotionally stable spaces. He couldn't afford to lose Bucky  _ again _ , but unfortunately the conversation had to happen. Luckily, neither of them seemed to drop too badly, and the next weekend Steve finally sat down with Bucky at his feet and asked to talk. 

"We should talk about last weekend," Steve said with more confidence in his voice than he felt. He watched Bucky's face carefully, and saw the drop. It was minor, just a tightening of the skin around his mouth and eyes. "I care deeply about you, but I don't think that that is something we should… do." He trailed off lamely, any semblance of confidence gone. How could he say ' _ I desperately would love to engage with you that way, but that was the old Bucky. If we cross that line here, will we ever stop? If we cross that line, is that consent? Is that taking advantage?' _ "I can't and won't take advantage of you like that," he said, hoping to make his point clear. "So. No sex. Please."

Bucky nodded. "I understand, Steve. I was caught up in the moment, and it has been so long since I came that I didn't think… I won't ask again." He seemed to accept Steve's words, unashamed about his sexuality. If there was any positive at all in what had happened to Bucky, it was his newfound lack of embarrassment regarding sex. In the past it would have been harder to get certain answers from Bucky, but that part of his being was just… gone. There was little Steve could ask that Bucky wouldn't answer, and he would do it without a hint of shame or fumbling in his words.  

"Wait, how long has it been since you came?" The words fell out of Steve's mouth before he could think about them. It really wasn't any of his business when the last time Bucky had orgasmed was. He hurried to grab his mug of barely lukewarm tea, feeling awkward but not wanting to show it. 

Bucky cocked his head and sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he pondered. "I think about twelve, thirteen months. Time is a bit fuzzy but it was snowing last time the Masters permitted that."

Steve had never choked on a drink before, but he did then, gasping and spluttering as he inhaled his tea. Any semblance of dignity disappeared momentarily and he hurried to wipe his dripping nose on his sweater. When his vision cleared, Bucky's expression was a mix of amusement and wariness. He might have lacked the shame, but he certainly didn't lack the nerves. 

"A year. You're saying it's been a year?" Steve managed to say, voice strained. 

"Yes?" Bucky looked cautious now. "I was caged most of the time, and you haven't given me permission, Steve." The way he said Steve always sounded more like 'Master' than Steve cared to think about. 

It took most of Steve's internal strength not to facepalm. Fuck. Of  _ course,  _ Bucky hadn't orgasmed since he'd arrived. It was something Steve hadn't even thought about, but this was a man who hadn't gone to the bathroom without permission. Bucky still looked to Steve for permission to eat even when ravenously hungry. And he hadn't even  _ asked _ for permission for desperate needs. Only after Steve had made that an order had he begun. And orgasms were no doubt something Bucky didn't deem vitally necessary. 

Steve felt so fucking stupid, so fucking irresponsible. He was supposed to take care of Bucky, take care of his needs. Sexual release felt less like a need than water and shelter, but it was still his responsibility. 

"Well, shit pal," Steve finally said, exhaling. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that that was something I had to give permission for." He shook his head at himself. "But you don't have to ask permission." 

Bucky raised both of his eyebrows, tucking his chin slightly. He looked so much like the old Bucky that it might have made Steve cry if he were a little more emotional. Those moments always caught him off-guard, hit him when he didn't expect it. He swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat. 

"I have to ask permission for things when you're here," Bucky pointed out, voice careful. 

He sighed inwardly. It was one thing to be in control of Bucky's food and bathroom usage, but another entirely to be calling the shots on when he got to come. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed at it. The idea was dizzying. Orgasm control was something he really,  _ really _ enjoyed. But not like this. None of this was how Steve would have wanted it though, and he had to do the best with a shitty situation. 

"Do you  _ want _ to come?" Steve asked hesitantly. "Is that something you want?" 

Bucky's eyes widened, and he almost looked trapped. Knowing what little he did of HYDRA, Steve wouldn't be surprised to hear that they asked questions like this only to deny Bucky at the last minute. He could imagine it already, the Masters giving Bucky hope only to dash it. It was entirely at odds to what Steve liked to do, which was to deny someone, only to overwhelm them with orgasms to the point of pain afterwards.

Slowly, Bucky's eyes narrowed and he seemed to examine Steve for a very long time. And then, to Steve's surprise, he nodded; a sharp jerk of the head, just once. Steve released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

That deserved a reward, Steve would say. Bucky had expressed a want beyond a basic human need, even if Steve had had to ask if he wanted it. Still, before him, Bucky's shoulders squared as if he was preparing for Steve to punish him or deny him. No, no, that wouldn't do at all. Bucky deserved this. 

"Okay. I give you permission to come today. I want you to go into the bathroom, right now, and bring yourself to orgasm. How you do it is up to you, but I want you to complete this task, and then once you're done, clean up and report back to me."

Steve was pleased with himself. That would be good, right? He wasn't crossing any lines that he felt truly uncomfortable with, and most importantly, this was something Bucky had expressed he wanted. This was good. Bucky nodded and got up, heading towards the bathroom. Steve didn't hear the bathroom door lock but that was no surprise. Bucky didn't seem to understand he was entitled to space and privacy, and only wore clothing on Steve's orders. 

He settled in with some work, balancing his laptop on one leg and a notepad on the other. Time passed, and he heard no sound from behind the bathroom door. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen; Bucky had been in there a  _ really _ long time. Was he okay? Had he come so hard that he'd passed out and hit his head? Jesus. Steve sat silently, trying to hear anything, but the only sounds were that of the outside world. 

Cursing quietly to himself, Steve set aside his notepad and laptop and cautiously walked over to the bathroom. He didn't want to disturb Bucky and potentially ruin his orgasm. But fuck, it was so quiet… He knocked softly.

"Bucky? You okay?" Steve asked, his voice less confident than he'd like. He told himself it was just that he was being mindful, not a chicken. 

The door opened slowly. Bucky looked  _ miserable.  _ His shoulders were slumped, hair falling around his face. His arms hung limply at his sides, as did his semi-erect penis at his groin. He didn't look up at Steve. 

"I've failed, Steve," Bucky whispered. "I… I can't. I'm trying to be good, but I get there and I can't… can't without…" He trailed off. He had spoken without permission too. Jesus, this was worse than Steve had thought. He'd never set Bucky a task that he’d found impossible to achieve. At least Bucky wasn't cowering in fear nor acting like Steve might hit him at any moment. Smell blessings, really.  _ Very _ small blessings. 

Steve wanted to tug Bucky into his arms. He looked so downtrodden and forlorn. But he was naked, and Steve already felt like he took advantage too often. 

"What's the problem?" Steve asked, firmness in his voice. Bucky wouldn't respond well to kindness and coddling. 

"I  _ can't _ without permission," Bucky mumbled. 

"But I gave you permission," Steve pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Bucky shrugged. "I don't understand it either, Steve. Maybe I just… can't anymore. But I haven't done it alone in… Since… I don't remember. I don't remember ever doing it alone." He finally looked up at Steve through his eyelashes, before quickly glancing back down. 

Steve smiled wryly; he knew the Bucky from before jerked off. Often. He'd heard all about it in high school. It was something that had made his younger self flushed with discomfort and arousal. He'd wondered what Bucky thought about. Bucky had told him about porn he'd found, told him some of his fantasies whilst they smoked joints on Bucky's bed. The joints had been terrible for Steve's asthma but great for his joint pain. Steve had hoped that when Bucky jerked off, he thought about Steve the same way Steve thought about Bucky. He'd felt so guilty for those thoughts, for thinking that way about his best friend. 

He wondered what Bucky thought about now.

"How did you do it with HYDRA?" 

Bucky shrugged again. "I don't remember much. I think… I think a Master had to be present." He sucked his lower lip again, eyes darting around as they often did when he was trying to remember. "They… They liked to…" He trailed off. "They… liked to use pain? To… train me?" His voice lifted in obvious question at the end, like he wasn't trusting his own memories. "Pleasure and pain? No. It was… To teach… Pleasure as bad? I think, Steve." He finished hurriedly, back to using Steve's name as a damn honorific. 

"Do you think you just need pain in order to come?" Steve asked, voice more nonchalant than he felt. 

Bucky shook his head, hazarding another glance up at Steve. "I tried that already, Steve," he admitted miserably. Steve took a closer look at him, bothered that Bucky might be hurting himself. Bucky’s nipples were pink and pert from where he had obviously grabbed them. But his thighs, which Steve had tried studiously to avoid looking at, were covered in bright red scratches and little crescents from where Bucky had dug his nails in. They weren't particularly bad marks, luckily. He didn't like the idea of Bucky hurting himself, but he remembered from those days of lying on Bucky's bed that Bucky had said he sometimes feared he couldn't get off without any pain. 

Steve didn't even think about it. "Center of the living room, now. On your knees."

He strode away, purpose in his step. He shoved the coffee table out of the way, his empty mug sliding dangerously close to the edge. Adrenaline was starting to pulse through him. This felt wrong, but not nearly as wrong as letting Bucky go without orgasm for any longer. He didn't know the health implications, but he was pretty sure they weren’t good. Not for a guy in his mid-20's. He didn't even want to think about it. 

More than anything, this was about screaming "FUCK YOU, HYDRA" in his mind. They had taken so much away from Bucky, but they weren't going to take away this, even if it meant Steve had to get involved at first. It would be fine. He just wouldn't touch Bucky. They could work this out. 

He threw himself back onto the couch, his legs spread comfortably in front of him. Bucky's eyes were a little glazed as he knelt down before Steve. 

"I'm not going to punish you," Steve said, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Bucky glanced up at him, the shock evident in his face. He visibly shrank away regardless. It was, weirdly, progress. Before, even when he’d been terrified, he hadn't shown fear that way. Bucky showing fear, as hard as it was for Steve to see, was a good thing. Steve reminded himself that sometimes progress didn't actually look like progress, that sometimes it was taking a step back, and that sometimes it just looked that way. 

"You've done nothing worth punishing. You attempted to complete my task, and I deem that you did the best you could. You don't get punished for trying and failing. You only get punished for not trying at all. We just have to do this differently." He sat up a little, leaning forward and shuffling towards the edge of the couch. "So you're going to orgasm for  _ me. _ Can you do that for me, Buck?" 

Bucky's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly. He nodded. There was no question in his face that that was something he could do. 

Steve sat back again, nodding sharply. "Good boy. I've no doubt you can do it. Now, touch yourself for me, and get yourself hard. And I've changed the rule. You're not allowed to come without asking." Steve could do this. This, like rope, was his  _ thing _ . This was something he included in more sexual encounters than he didn't. The adrenaline that had begun before was picking up, launching full speed ahead.

Bucky, ever obedient, did as Steve asked, grabbing his cock right away and jerking it slowly. He'd gone almost entirely soft in the last few minutes, but under Bucky's right hand his cock returned to attention. Steve had seen Bucky naked so often that it was practically commonplace now. He'd seen Bucky's cock outlined in his underwear when they'd played, or when he was fresh out of the shower. But seeing Bucky kneeling in front of him, legs spread, cock hard in hand… That did something to Steve that he couldn't even begin to put into proper thoughts, let alone words. If he tried to articulate it, he imagined it would just come out as a garbled mess. 

He had to get ahold of himself. He wasn't supposed to be getting aroused by this. He wasn’t supposed to be  _ enjoying _ this. This, like rope, like everything he did, was about Bucky. He shoved his desires down, resisted the urge to grab a pillow to cover his lap, and returned his focus to Bucky. 

Bucky's face was vacant. His hands were going through the motions, but his eyes were glazed. It wasn't the soft look Steve had come to associate with positive feelings, like the look he had when Steve was hurting him, or when Steve had him in rope. This was the same expression he wore when he dissociated. His face was slack, empty. 

This wasn't what Steve wanted. This defeated the entire purpose of the exercise. It was the exact opposite of what Steve was trying to achieve. 

"Bucky," Steve snapped, putting force into his voice to try and bring Bucky back to the present. "Look at me." 

Bucky blinked a few times at him, the glassy expression gradually receding. He was still only half-present it seemed, but it was enough for Steve to work with. 

"Bucky," Steve repeated, leaning forward again. Bucky blinked up at him, hand still on his cock. Steve tried not to look. Instead, he softened his tone, resisting the urge to reach out and thumb at Bucky's cheek and cradle Bucky’s face in his hands. "What's happening?" 

Bucky made a questioning sound. 

"You've gone somewhere else. Is this okay? We can stop if you need." 

Bucky’s eyelashes fluttered several times. Steve didn't rush him, knowing now that when Bucky was coming back to reality that he was a little slower.

"This… Is like the Masters?" Bucky said slowly, his tone more questioning of himself than of Steve. "This… this was how the Masters did it," he repeated more confidently. "They… Didn't like to touch. Dirty, they said. They… wanted to make… the slave… embarrassed. Feel silly. They. Was funny for them." The words spilled out slowly.

Steve had gotten better at holding his fury back until he was in the gym, where he could unleash the frustrations on boxing bags until he felt like his hands might break. He'd learned to control his breathing, but in moments such as these he had to remember it, to make breathing through his reaction natural. 

He'd inadvertently triggered Bucky, and whilst he wasn't melting down, Steve counted this as a loss, a strike against him. He knew it wasn't his fault, but he had been so blindly trying to fix it that he hadn't been cool-headed about it and asked Bucky questions. 

"So they never touched you when they did this?" Steve confirmed, eyes narrowing.

"No, Master." Bucky slipped up, but didn't seem to realize it. His eyes were going glassy and then not, glassy and then not. 

"They sat around and watched you play with yourself?" 

"Yes, Master."

"Okay." Steve’s mind was flying at a million miles an hour. He had an idea. "Stay there." 

He heaved himself off the couch, crossed the room to his rope bag, and picked out a single rope, his blindfold, and the clamps that Bucky seemed to have such a strong love-hate relationship with. 

"May I touch you?" Steve asked, sitting on the edge of the couch again. Bucky's hand was still on his semi-erect cock; Steve hadn't given him permission to take it away. That kind of obedience might have aroused Steve in any other situation, but for now it just fuelled his anger. 

Bucky nodded. 

"I'm not going to touch your cock," Steve told him, slowly going to his knees beside Bucky. "I'm going to touch. I'm going to remind you it's  _ me _ here with you, not them. But  _ you _ are going to bring yourself off, with my permission, and you're going to remember that you're mine." The last bit wasn't strictly necessary, but fell from his mouth regardless. He shoved the thought away. That problem was something for him to deal with later. 

Bucky nodded again, mute. Steve wasn't going to use the blindfold just yet; he needed to know that Bucky was still there, still present. Instead, he leaned forward and squeezed Bucky's already hard nipples, gathering the flesh so that he could clip the clamps to them. Bucky's eyes fluttered and he bit his lip. Steve couldn't help but notice Bucky's cock twitch. It made the fire in his stomach simmer down to a warm heat. 

He shuffled around on his knees, hovering at Bucky's side before finally getting over his nerves.  _ This is just like rope _ , he told himself. He was touching Bucky, but he wasn't going near his genitals. Exactly like rope. He'd done this with Bucky several times now. It was fine. He'd done rope with people who had orgasmed without any stimulation from him. It… It was fine. 

Steve was still dressed, but he felt the heat of Bucky's naked body through his clothing anyway. He inched closer, dragging a hand over Bucky's back, his other hand going to his hair to twist and then pull. Bucky panted and his cock twitched again. Steve pressed his nose against Bucky's cheek, and breathed "Go on, touch yourself." 

Bucky shuddered and slowly moved his hand over his cock again. Steve tried not to look, but he was so close. Bucky was right there, pressed against him, breathing harder already. He smelled good. Bucky always smelled good. He used the exact same products that Steve did and yet always smelled so uniquely like Bucky. 

"Good," Steve encouraged. Part of him wanted to ask if Bucky needed lube, but he wasn't about to interrupt what little of a moment was building. Besides, Bucky seemed to be doing just fine. 

A little whining sound escaped Bucky's mouth at Steve's words, followed by a second one when Steve yanked his hair harder. There was pre-cum on Bucky's cock; Steve had the oddest desire to see how it tasted, to swallow Bucky down. He battled the thought easily, instead distracting himself by digging his own nails into the inside of Bucky's thighs, gripping the flesh and then dragging. 

Bucky made a louder sound still, a mix of pleasure and pain. His hand sped up, and he rocked his hips at the same time. 

Steve pulled his face away, wanting to check that Bucky was still there. Bucky looked back at him through lidded eyes, hand still moving. Yep, definitely still present. Steve had to look away, entranced by his expression. Again Steve distracted himself, this time by tugging the chain on the clamps. 

"Please," Bucky breathed. 

"Please, what, Buck?" Steve asked against his ear before nipping at the lobe. 

Bucky moaned, the sound sending pulses to Steve's cock. "Please… Can I come?" 

"No." A part of him slapped himself for saying it, because what if Bucky simply couldn't come? 

Bucky shuddered again and slowed his strokes. "Yes, Steve," he breathed, uttering the words like Steve's name was a prayer. And he  _ said Steve's name _ . Jesus. Steve was above using Bucky’s body for his own pleasure, but he was going to jerk off to this memory for at least the rest of his life, if not longer. 

Once he'd cooled off a little, Bucky started jerking himself off harder again. Breathy little moans filled the air around them, as did the light slapping sound of skin. Steve felt dizzy with it and had to keep distracting himself by giving Bucky little flashes of pain. It wasn't too intense.He was just doing the same things he knew Bucky loved. Steve’s hand slipped up to Bucky’s throat, twisting the collar and choking him slightly. He watched as Bucky's already flushed cheeks reddened. 

Steve released the hold.

"Please, please, please, Steve," Bucky begged, head falling back on Steve's shoulder. His hair tickled Steve's neck and chin. 

"Please, what, Buck?" Steve asked again. "I told you to be clearer before."

"Please may I come, Steve?" His voice was breathy and weak. 

Steve was so tempted to tell him that he couldn't, so he did. "No, not yet." 

Bucky whined, jerking his hand away from his cock and gasping. His hips continued to cant in the air momentarily before he settled back. Steve responded with a smirk, and a hearty tug on the chain. Bucky cried out, body bowing forward. He gasped wetly, breathing through the pain before it levelled out again. 

"That's it," Steve crooned, using his hold in Bucky's hair to guide his head closer to Steve's again. "You're being such a good boy for me. Do you like being good for me, Buck?"

Bucky nodded, panting and staring at Steve through the corner of his eye. 

"Good. I think you're being good too. Doing just as I like. I think it's time you get a reward, don't you?" 

Bucky bit his lip as he nodded, and it took all of Steve's strength not to grasp his face, tug the lip from between Bucky's teeth, and put it between his own. He restrained himself, but only barely. 

"What kind of reward would you like, Buck?" Steve asked, casual as he could be with a raging boner and Bucky's throat under his hands. Bucky squirmed in his arms, but not away from Steve. He pressed himself as close to Steve as he possibly could, as if he was trying to crawl under Steve's skin. His hip pressed against Steve's boner but if he noticed it he didn't react, so caught up in everything else. His left arm came down to rest on Steve's thigh, grasping at the material of his sweatpants as he writhed. His right hand returned to its task with haste and a grip that had to hurt. 

Steve’s mouth ran away from him, and he found himself murmuring all kinds of filth in Bucky's ear; things that might have made him blush were he not on such a high of his own. Steve wasn't a big one for dirty talk. He preferred to use his body to show what his mouth couldn't. But it seemed he was saying the right things; Bucky squirmed, pressing closer and closer to Steve, his breathing heavy. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. Bucky kept moving against him, inadvertently rubbing Steve’s cock with his hip. Steve was probably going to come in his pants like a goddamn teenager. 

"What kind of reward would you like?" Steve repeated, his hand going to Bucky's thigh and pulling it further open.He grasped the sensitive flesh there again, pinching and twisting. It made Bucky jolt enough that his hip was no longer against Steve's crotch. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. 

Bucky sobbed out a moan, his hand not stopping its movement. "Please, can I come? Please? Please?"

"Sure you can, pal. Come on, come for me." Steve bit at Bucky’s neck, not even really thinking by this point. "You're such a good boy for me, make me so proud." 

Another sob escaped Bucky and he shuddered. Steve watched his face intently. He saw tears spring into Bucky’s eyes, and was again struck a fierce  _ need _ to kiss him. But he didn't, instead finally relaxing his grip on Bucky's throat, letting Bucky whimper as he came a frankly ridiculous amount. 

"Okay, you can let go now," Steve said softly against Bucky's ear, once he was sure Bucky had finished. Bucky obeyed, shaking. Not thinking, Steve pulled Bucky close to himself again, bringing him into his arms. Bucky sagged against him, still breathing hard. Bucky was shaking and shivering, and there was definitely come on Steve's sweatpants, but that didn't matter. 

"Thank you, Steve," Bucky murmured, tucking his head under Steve's chin. 

"Thank  _ you _ . You're such a good boy, make me so proud…" Steve was still dizzy from it; dizzier still to be holding Bucky like this. He wasn't sure what was going to happen now, or how the fuck he was going to recover from this. But that was a problem for future Steve; present Steve just wanted to get his breath back, and keep holding Bucky. 


	10. Chapter 10

**May**

**_TIMELY TIMES - INTERVIEW -  05/13/2018 9:23am ET_ **

**_Order Through Pain: inside HYDRA_ **

**_Is it the the path to world peace, or a "BDSM cult"?_ **

_ by Wanda Maximoff _

_ Natalia Mercer is disarmingly beautiful. It's 7am when we meet for our interview, but her platinum blonde hair is curled perfectly and her winged eyeliner is so sharp that it could cut glass. There's a twinkle in her bright blue eyes as she makes me a coffee that beats even the little indie shop I go to near my parents house. My venti Starbucks coffee in hand suddenly feels inadequate when she serves me a latte I'll likely be writing poetry about as I sleep tonight. Every movement she makes is done with poise and grace and if I didn't know otherwise, I'd wonder if I was in the presence of a Bolshoi trained ballet dancer.  _

_ I thank her for agreeing to meet with me. She laughs, a delicate sound, and reassures me that she is just as glad for our meeting. She wants the truth about HYDRA out as much as the next person. As one of their "slaves", she is currently exempt from the trial, and willing to speak with me about the life that she lead under HYDRA, and how their way of life could potentially lead to world peace.  _

_ "I just wish people would realize that this is a perfectly valid lifestyle for many people. Everyone was so enamoured when  _ Fifty Shades of Grey _ was released, yet here we are, living and breathing people flourishing under the lifestyle we love, in the privacy of our own homes, and we're being condemned for it. Like Anastasia and Christian, we sign contracts. Ours are just a little more advanced than what you read in a Harlequin novel."  _

_ HYDRA, an acronym for Honesty, Youth, Discipline, Respect and Accountability, could also be known as a BDSM family or house. Extreme for some, their methods have been met with fear and outrage. A raid last year lead to the arrest of many of the "Masters" in HYDRA, with charges including sexual assault, rape, money laundering, and human trafficking. Yet Natalia insists that the charges are wrong and the way police deal with consensual BDSM is tricky as the lines are more blurred than they appear. _

_ Is it truly assault if it is consented to? And can consent be withdrawn at a later date? What about the inclusion of contracts? That is what the justice system intends to prove or disprove over the coming months.  _

_ We chat a little more before I have to get into it. Her parents, how hot the weather is for this time of year, adapting to city life after many years in the country.  _

**_Tell me about an average day in the life of a HYDRA slave._ **

_ Oh, can a life like this ever be described as 'average'? [She giggles.] Hmmm, let me think. Wake-up tended to be at about dawn. If you were in the Masters good books the night before, you may have slept in one of their rooms and you would start your day with servicing them. If not, you would quickly bathe and present yourself for an inspection. Meals were taken three times a day. We were kept on strict diets which fulfilled our nutritional needs, yet kept us trim and attractive. Meals were gluten-, dairy-, nut-, and soy-free, and often vegan, but high in protein. These things can impact your gut, and the Masters wanted us in the best shape possible. If you've just eaten a meal heavy in meat and dairy, you're not going to perform as well. Your privilege level at the time indicated the form your meals would take; I was usually on solids, unless Master was preparing me for something special, but some of the other slaves were almost always on the liquid diets.  _

_ A lot of our time was spent on self-improvement. I did a lot of yoga, which had physical and mental benefits. Every day I did some study, whether that be on history, languages, or appropriate etiquette. We had mantras which were required several times a day, a kind of hypnotic meditation, and that brought me such peace. We were required to do many acts of service to ensure the household ran smoothly, and to remind us of our place. Many people think that the life of a full-time submissive is glamorous. It isn't always fawning around in lingerie at parties. But true submission is so freeing. I never feared for money, for my body, for my future. All my needs were taken care of by the wonderful Masters.  _

_ And of course, there was caring for our Masters. We prepared their meals, ensured their lives ran as smoothly as possible. We entertained them as required. After the evening meal and before bed, of course, there were punishments. Sometimes you did things that required punishment, but often, these were just maintenance to ensure we never wanted to get out of our place. Following punishments and further bathing, it was bedtime.  _

_ It truly sounds boring when I lay it out like this, but every day was so different and I never once found myself bored. My mind and body were always entertained, and I was so peaceful and happy. I wish more people got to experience such things. Imagine that. No decisions, and all your needs taken care of.  _

**_It does sound lovely. How are HYDRA members recruited? Surely there must be some process, otherwise I'm sure there would be more involved._ **

_ We don't really recruit as we don't need to. Many, both Master and slave alike, are drawn to us. The process of signing a contract with HYDRA can be lengthy, and the initial training is brutal. There are many who believe they have what it takes but find very quickly they don't. We very rarely seek others out though, unless we see real talent. Even then, we are delicate in our approach. We never want anyone to feel pressured to join us. We simply provide the information for those interested and if they wish to take it further then they get in contact with one of us.  _

_ Of course, even getting from that initial conversation into a contract is a lengthy process. You are expected to learn about our way of life, and then of course, there is the branding. Many potential recruits flee at the mention of that. But those that get to the stage of singing a contract have usually been in contact with a HYDRA Master for at least a month.  _

**_You've mentioned contracts. What did these look like? Why is there a need for them?_ **

_ Contracts are so that all parties are aware of what they are committing to, what their rights are, and what their responsibilities are. This means that there are no questions about the rules. If your contract, say, forbids you from consuming dairy, and you then eat a slice of cheese, you will be punished for it. Each of our contracts were individually tailored. For example, mine read that I was expected to make eye contact with our Masters, as they felt my eyes were truly beautiful.  _

_ These contracts also provide us with instructions. I knew how to present myself in certain situations, and the most appropriate manner in which to behave. These contracts are signed every year and adapt and change as we all grow and change.  _

**_I've seen some of your interviews, and in those you've expressed that living under rules such as those of HYDRA could be the key to world peace. Could you explain that a little more?_ **

_ Of course! HYDRA gives so many people such peace. For those that crave control, they get to experience the ultimate of that. HYDRA is in control of every aspect of a human's life: their nutrition, their water, their sleep, their bodies. It is exhilarating and freeing for them, to be permitted to exercise this need to control in a safe manner. Many of us, however, are more likely to walk the path of slavery. To have all of life's decisions removed from us, and the only choice we ever had to make being 'do I wish to obey or not'. It offers a sense of peace that little else can.  _

_ The world is so chaotic that more and more people are willing to sacrifice their freedom to gain security. HYDRA has seen an increase in interest over the past two years and since the news broke I've had many people contact me, hoping to be put in contact with other HYDRA Masters.  _

**_Do you think HYDRA has done anything wrong?_ **

_ Absolutely not. Every slave with a contract under HYDRA did so without coercion or lies. They knew what they were getting into, and they chose to re-sign every year. I willingly submitted all forms of identification and assets, so that I could prove myself to the Masters.  _

_ Of course, I warn people, it isn't easy. But nor is the Amish lifestyle. Nor is veganism. Only the strongest in mind are suited for this lifestyle. Yet the Amish and the vegans of the world aren't being persecuted in such a manner. This is a lifestyle choice, and little else.  _

_ But were these alleged victims really suffering? Not without their explicit consent, they weren't.  _

_ * _

_ HYDRA's next appearance in court will be this coming Wednesday.  _

 

*

 

Steve finished locking off the third rope in his takate-kote, and moved around to Bucky's front to check the frictions and tensions. He didn't often put Bucky's hands behind his back when he tied him, erring on the side of caution with his shoulder, but given that they were staying on the floor today he felt it would be safe enough. It was their weekly play. Weekly play! Play was officially part of their routine now, something they shared every Saturday evening, at the least; sometimes Bucky asked for more too. Steve didn't know why that made him so delighted, but it filled him with a warmth that saw him through the tougher days.  _ He _ could give this to Bucky, and more importantly, Bucky had  _ asked _ him to give it. 

Bucky's head was down as Steve worked and it was only when he felt something wet hit his hands that he thought to look at Bucky's face. When he looked up he was horrified to see that Bucky had started crying. Shit! When had that happened? 

Steve's stomach dropped as he frantically ran through what could have upset Bucky. They'd only started minutes ago. He hadn't said or done anything, beyond kissing the spot below Bucky's ear as he started the tie. Had that been it? Had that finally been too far? Fuck. Or maybe his shoulder was in worse shape than Steve had thought and what little pressure the TK put on it had been too painful? 

Why hadn't he said anything? Why hadn't Steve checked in sooner? 

"Oh, Bucky, I'm so sorry," Steve said, cupping his face quickly and wiping the tears that dripped down his cheeks. He tried to quell his anxiety, knowing Bucky would no doubt feel it. Steve was generally in tune with Bucky, but Bucky was even better at it than he was. 

"I'm okay," Bucky insisted wetly, still not looking at him. Another few tears ran silently down his cheeks and met Steve's thumbs on their journey down. Steve wiped them again, his heart aching. This was the first time he'd seen Bucky cry since Steve had removed his old collar. He was sure Bucky cried in therapy, or something, right? 

"No, let me get you out of this." Steve had made a rule ages ago about not playing while Bucky was crying, and for good reason. He hadn't seen Bucky cry, but he hadn't wanted to cross that line. Steve was happy to give Bucky pain as requested, but he never wanted to harm him. 

"No, please…" Bucky trailed off. "Don't. They're… They're good tears." 

Steve gave him a mildly exasperated look. "You know I don't like to negotiate mid-scene, Buck…"

Bucky nodded, visibly swallowing and blinking rapidly to rid his eyes of their tears. He sniffed grossly and chuckled. "Sorry, I'll stop crying. I just… It…" He looked at the ground again, long dark eyelashes stark against pale cheeks. "You were just… being so gentle on my shoulder. I felt safe. Really safe. Hadn't felt that in a long time before you came and got me. And it all just… kinda hit me." He shrugged his shoulders and looking like he was trying to wipe his face, only to fail. "I'm okay. Promise. We… We can stop. I know we have the rule. But I didn't think I'd ever cry from feeling good, you know?"

Steve sighed, feeling torn. This was not what they'd had in mind when they made the rule all those months ago. "I don't want to make a habit of changing the rules in-scene." 

Bucky nodded again. "I know. I get it. I love that about you. You’re always concerned for my welfare, like a good Owner. But we just started, and I'm not floating. You can take it off and I'll tell ya it's okay, and then you can put it back on if you want." 

Steve chuckled. "No. We… We can continue. But don't make this a habit." He kissed Bucky's nose quickly without thinking about it, and then added, "Thank you for trusting me."

Bucky sniffled again and gave Steve a watery smile. "Thank you for making me feel safe." 

Steve’s insides twisted with such joy that he had to look away. He went back to fussing over his rope, even though objectively, it was just fine. 

"Yeah, well," he said gruffly, "you look pretty when you cry. So I might see what I can do about that."

Bucky laughed, throwing his head back and smiling so widely that Steve felt trapped between wanting to look away and being unable to do so. It was like looking at the sun, and likely just as dangerous. He shook himself out out of it, distracting himself by grabbing a handful of Bucky's hair and dragging him to the ground. 

On his knees, Bucky rubbed his face gently against Steve's thighs; it looked like he was wiping his damp face on Steve's pants, but also taking the opportunity to nuzzle against Steve, which he did as often as he could. Steve pushed him away, tweaking his nose and giving him a smirk to show he wasn't bothered before joining Bucky on the living room rug.

The futomomo's didn't have to be as tidy this time given he had no intentions of suspending Bucky. He quickly secured Bucky's ankles to his thighs. Bucky had stopped crying now instead just watching Steve work and gasping occasionally when Steve did something particularly mean, like pinching his inner thighs. 

"So, if I recall correctly," Steve began, getting to his feet once he'd finished the ties and heading to the sofa, "you seemed to like the shin torture the other week."

Bucky eyed him warily, and with good reason. Finally, he hummed his agreement. Steve knew Bucky had; they'd talked about it after he'd seen Bucky pressing the bruises on his shins absently throughout the week, his eyes fluttering happily at the pain. It was something nearly all of the masochists he'd encountered talked about; pressing their bruises until long after they’d faded to try and relive the scene. It had been a slow journey for Steve to remember, but he definitely knew now that Bucky was a masochist. Not a heavy one like those he sometimes saw on  _ The Dark Side _ or even at the clubs, but still one that gave Steve's sadist a run for its money. 

Not everything about Bucky was the same as it was before, but this fact remained. He remembered teenage Bucky excitedly telling him about the porn he'd discovered, and had heard him admit that he liked pain. Bucky had certainly enjoyed it and had sought it wherever he could before he'd disappeared. One of the intrusive thoughts Steve spent more time fighting than he cared to admit was the idea that if he'd ignored his anxiety and given Bucky what he craved more often, perhaps Bucky might not have fallen under HYDRA's spell. Yet despite the suffering he'd endured, it remarkably remained something he continued to thrive on. 

Steve grabbed the cotton bag off the sofa and pulled the wooden toy out of it. Bucky cocked his head, confused. Steve's grin was wolfish as he unrolled the mat, the wooden slats clicking pleasantly. He lay it across the blanket in front of Bucky's knees and let him see it. Ishidaki mats—wooden boards with triangular ridges—were a relatively new discovery of his, but had proven a wonderful time with the right person. He hoped Bucky was the right person. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, indicating that he wasn't scared. Steve had to stop himself from physically celebrating. Scenes with Bucky weren't always fun and games, and sometimes provided Bucky with valuable respite from his own mind. But every so often Steve got little glimpses of sass and, despite the earlier tears, Bucky seemed to be more playful than usual today. 

"Oh, is that how it is?" Steve asked, raising his own eyebrow in return. 

"I've probably been through worse," Bucky said before adding an impish, "Steve." 

"Way to bring the mood down." His tone was teasing though. "It's okay. We'll see how you feel after this." 

He knelt beside Bucky then, lifting him with surprising ease to lay his shins across the wooden triangles. 

"Oof," Bucky said after a minute. "That is meaner than it looks." 

"Is it?" Steve crouched down to grin at him. "Feels great to me." 

"Very funny, Steve," Bucky managed through a wince, shifting from side to side, trying to work through to the sensation. His eyes rolled back a little; he was obviously torn between finding the pain overwhelming and enjoying it all the same. 

"Maybe I'm doing it wrong?" Steve asked, all false innocence. 

"Maybe, Steve." 

He leaned forward and rested his hands on Bucky's knees, putting a little extra weight there. Bucky yelped and breathed hard to get through the pain before breaking off into a wobbly giggle. 

"So," Steve said conversationally, as if he was explaining to Bucky how to work the coffee machine. He shifted his weight from hand to hand, never allowing Bucky to adjust to the pain. "Ishidaki was a Japanese torture method from the Edo period. And before you ask, I don't know exactly when that was. I'm taking inspiration from them, not history lessons." Bucky's mouth snapped shut as Steve cut off his question before he had a chance to ask it. "Typically, they would put prisoners on them and then use heavy rocks to weigh them down. Unfortunately, I don't have any rocks here. Brooklyn, you know?" 

"What a shame," Bucky gasped. 

"I know," Steve agreed. "But it's okay. Lucky for you, I'm known for my ingenuity." 

"Lucky me." Bucky’s voice was distant; he was clearly still trying to process the pain. It was a good look on him. 

Steve stood. "Indeed." 

The suspension ring hovered above Bucky in its usual position. These days Steve didn't even bother to put it away given the frequency with which they used it. In this particular moment, he was glad he’d left it out. He reached up for the shiny ring that hung at about head height, and grasped it with both hands. Balancing on one foot, he used the other to increase the weight on Bucky's legs, pressing him down against the mat harder.

Bucky keened, the sounds garbled and needy, until Steve eased off. He panted as the worst of the pain subsided, and then looked up at Steve again with eyes that were already beginning to glass over. 

"How'd that work, bud?" Steve asked casually. 

"Practically a walk in the park, Steve." 

"Oh. Shoot. Not what I was going for." He did it again, not significantly increasing the force. He knew that Bucky would already be blasting through the endorphins. Bucky squirmed under Steve’s foot, and when he seemed to realize that made it worse he stopped, sobbing dryly at the pain. Steve eased off again. On, off. On, off. 

He squatted down again and pushed Bucky's hair off his sweat-damp face. Bucky grinned dopily at him. 

"I like this one," Bucky admitted, words a little slurred. 

"Again, not entirely what I'm going for," Steve said drily. "But I'm glad you're enjoying it. Reckon you can take more?"

Bucky nodded without even pausing to think about it. "Please, Steve. It… Feels…" He paused, struggling with the words.

"'Good' isn't quite the word to use, is it?" Steve chuckled. Bucky nodded in agreement, and then cried out as Steve grasped the suspension ring and stood on him again. Steve kept most of his weight in his arms. He didn’t want to  _ actually _ torture Bucky, but the increase in pressure definitely did its job. 

"Steve?" Bucky rasped when Steve crouched beside him again to check that he was still okay. He was sweating and trembling, but enjoyment was painfully evident on his face. 

"What's up, bud?" 

"Can… Can I come again, Steve?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Now?"

Bucky nodded. 

They'd discussed this briefly before the scene, so it wasn't like they was negotiating mid-scene again. Steve hadn't actually expected him to ask for it, given that he'd known what was coming. But when his eyes finally sought the front of Bucky's boxer briefs, it became apparent that Bucky had been enjoying this as much as Steve had hoped he would. Sure, he hadn't done this specifically to make Bucky aroused. He’d simply wanted to do things Bucky and he could both enjoy. But the physical evidence of Bucky’s arousal was always appreciated. 

"Okay, we're going to do it differently this time though. Last time I gave you permission because that was about just… letting you have a goddamn orgasm, for Christ's sake." Frustration filled his voice, angry again at HYDRA, before he caught himself. That wasn't the point here. "But we're going to train you to come without permission again. I don't care how long it takes. So today, if you come, it's without permission, okay? Got that? No amount of begging and pleading is going to change it. If you can't come without permission, then you don't get to at all. I… I don't want to control that." 

Bucky's eyes widened at Steve's ultimatum but he still nodded. "Please, Steve. Please. I… I want." 

"On the ishidaki?" Steve clarified.

"That's up to you, Steve," Bucky gritted out. 

Steve grinned wickedly and used his foot to press Bucky's thigh, more gently than before. The cry Bucky let out went to his own cock, but he ignored it. This wasn't about him. 

"Fine, fine," Steve huffed, as if this was inconveniencing him greatly. He pushed Bucky over. Bucky's breath came in harsh sobs as he was finally relieved of the innocent looking torture device. When Steve hauled Bucky off his side, he saw that tears had sprung to his eyes. He hastily undid as much of the TK as was needed, freeing Bucky's right hand before redoing the tie so that his left hand remained tied behind his back. It acted as a nice break for Bucky before Steve changed things up, and by the time he'd locked off the tie again Bucky's breathing was almost back to normal. 

"Grab your cock," Steve instructed, shuffling around so he was at Bucky's side with his chest pressed against Bucky’s bound arm. "Now, I want you to edge yourself for me." 

The little sound Bucky made was questioning so Steve clarified. "You don't need my permission to come, not technically. But if you thought you could have an orgasm without suffering for it, you were dead wrong." 

Bucky shuddered and Steve knew that he'd said the exact right thing. 

"But… you like that, don't you? Suffering for me? Coming for me?" 

Bucky nodded furiously, sweet desperate sounds already pouring out of him. 

"Good. So, grab your cock and start stroking." 

Hurriedly, so fast that he was almost sloppy with it, Bucky reached into his underwear and pulled out his cock. Steve noted how Bucky jerked it, how different his cut cock looked from Steve’s own uncut one. Bucky was almost rough with it; hardly a surprise given the other things he liked, but it still made Steve wince just a little. 

"Stop," Steve advised against his ear when it seemed Bucky was close, his hips giving little thrusts in the air. Bucky released his cock instantly and whined.

"I thought we were training me to come without permission."

"We are," Steve said. "But when you come, I want you to be a panting, desperate, sobbing mess. Once you're that, then you can come whenever you want."

"God, I hate you," Bucky moaned.

"Liar," Steve huffed, biting his neck and enjoying the way Bucky melted against him. 

"A lot, Steve."

"Sure, pal. Remind me to cry myself to sleep tonight." 

Maybe edging wasn't the best idea. After all, it was still Steve asserting control over an aspect of Bucky's life that he didn't technically want to control. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Steve  _ loved _ orgasm denial, but not at the cost of Bucky's (or anyone else's) ability to do so at all. Yet last time he’d tried, Bucky had been unable to orgasm without direct permission, and Steve knew that needed to change. He figured he’d get Bucky to edge himself as many times as possible and then surely, eventually, he'd be able to come on his own, right? It wasn't the best plan but it was all he had for now so he was rolling with it. 

It didn't take long to get Bucky to the edge several times. 

Steve regretted the removal of the ishidaki. It would have been a beautiful sight to see Bucky moving as he was, but fighting against the pain in his shins. He had a delighful suspicion that Bucky wouldn't mind the idea next time either. 

"Please,  _ pleasepleaseplease _ ," Bucky begged, hand moving urgently over his cock. 

"Please, what, Buck?" Steve asked, gently biting his earlobe. 

"Please, Steve, can I come?"

Steve chuckled. "I don't know pal, can you?"

Another dry sob escaped Bucky's mouth. "Steve, please…"

"I said before you could come whenever you want to. So, by all means…"

"Steve!" Bucky cried as his desperation increased with every passing stroke. 

"This orgasm isn't mine, Buck. It's yours. You're my good boy, and I want you to have this. But you have to get there on your own." 

The temptation to give in was so strong. All he had to do was utter the words 'you can come' and Bucky would find his relief. A part of him feared that if he didn't, Bucky would truly be unable to reach his climax. For now though, it was a risk he was determined to take. 

He curled a hand around the other side of Bucky's neck and applied gentle pressure there, pulling Bucky ever closer. Steve felt like his skin was on fire, like his own sanity somehow relied on Bucky's orgasm, as if the sensations were his own. He nuzzled against Bucky's damp temple, enjoying every shudder and quake of Bucky’s body. God, he was trembling against Steve.

"C'mon. I know you can do it. God, you look so good like this, all desperate and pleading for me. You looked so good on your knees before, just suffering for me, because I wanted you to. So good, Buck. Makes me just wanna hurt you more, but in all the ways that make you feel good. Makes me so proud that you're mine, you know that?"

Bucky nodded against him, back arching and hips canting into the empty air in front of him. "Yes, Steve. Yours. Yoursyoursyours, oh fuck,  _ fuck _ ." 

Steve's eyes had fallen closed, but he managed to open them in time to see Bucky come. White streaks shot out of his swollen cock and across his chest, stomach, thighs, the blanket below him. The he made sound was strangled, a stomach-twisting sound and Steve couldn't tell if it was more pleasure or pain. 

Slowly, Bucky's movements eased and he slumped. Steve let him relax before carefully manhandling him gently, just enough that he could unfasten the ropes. Bucky was like a rag doll, his body soft and pliant as Steve manoeuvred him before laying him down on the floor. Steve went with him. It was too humid to cuddle, but Steve kept his body pressed as closely to Bucky's as the warm, sticky air would allow.

They both lay there staring at the ceiling, surrounded by pools of jute. Steve felt drained and weirdly satisfied, like he was the one who'd just had an earth-shattering orgasm. 

"Wow," Bucky finally murmured. "I did it."

Steve grinned. "You sure did."

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to. Sure felt like I wasn't gonna." 

He chanced a glance at Bucky and his heart stopped. He hurriedly pulled Bucky into his arms, excesses of come be damned. Bucky was  _ crying _ , and not in the ways he had been earlier. 

"I'm okay, Steve," Bucky insisted into Steve's t-shirt. "I just. It's a lot. A good lot."

"I know," Steve reassured him, even though he wasn't sure he did. 

"I just… I didn't think I'd be able to. And I did. They… They took away so much but I'm getting bits of it back. I got some of it back." The sentences were disjointed and broken by Bucky’s attempts to suppress his sobs. "And now I'm crying. I- Why am I crying? I don't even cry in therapy. I-" He finally gave up on trying to make sentences work, and Steve let him. He held Bucky through what sounded weirdly like happy sobs, rather than the wracking kind that came with devastation. 

The sobs eased quickly and Bucky shook his head as if that could prevent more tears. 

"Thank you," Bucky said, easing himself back and smiling. "I swear, I feel great. Really." Steve nodded silently. He didn't have words, but he didn't need them. 

Swallowing and shifting further back so he could see Steve's face, Bucky melted Steve with a shy smile. It always astounded Steve that he could be totally shameless about his sexuality, yet so vulnerable about other things. And then, apparently seeing whatever he wanted to see in Steve's face, Bucky brought himself up into a kneeling position, unbothered by the come still on his stomach and chest. 

"What?" Steve asked, still lying on the ground, too much fondness in his voice for it to be anything other than playful. 

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" 

The record player in Steve's brain shorted out with a sharp screech. "Uh?" He sat up. 

"I mean in your bed, not  _ with _ you," Bucky rushed to clarify, ducking his head. 

"Oh. Sure. No problems," Steve answered quickly, not even thinking. That was fine. Bucky had been sleeping on the floor beside him anyway for the last few weeks. If anything, Steve would feel better having Bucky in his bed; not for his own selfish purposes but because his mattress had to be far better for Bucky's body than the shitty futon on the floor. 

He almost asked Bucky if he wanted to still be tied to it, but he could already picture Bucky's face falling with the multi-layered implications of that question. Instead he went with: "I'm still going to tie you to it though." 

It was the right thing to say. Bucky's face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you, Steve." 

"Now, go shower. You're gross. When you get back, I'll braid your hair for you." 

Bucky ducked his head again and hastened to obey. Steve lay back amongst his tangled ropes and sighed happily. He didn't know how long his happiness would last, and some days he really, really wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. But Bucky seemed happy, so things couldn’t be all that bad. 

The thump of the pipes in the wall signalled the shower starting. With another sigh, Steve finally dragged himself into an upright position. It wasn't morally wrong for him to jerk off now, was it? He sure as shit hoped not, because that's exactly what he was about to do. 

Bucky's showers always lasted ages anyway. 

 

*

 

It wasn't quite summer yet, but it appeared that New York City hadn't received the memo; it was in the mid-eighty degrees and still only May. Fuck his life, he didn't sign up for this. That said, Steve really ought not complain. It was actually a nice day; summer, however, promised to be blistering. His apartment was well-insulated and he did have an air conditioner. But it rattled constantly despite his frequent requests for it to be repaired. 

Still, he did his best to recognize that it was a nice day. He didn't need a jacket, and the sun was shining. Sure, parts of the city were already beginning to smell of rotting garbage but given the bitterly cold winter they'd had, everybody seemed happy enough to enjoy it. The streets were busy for a weekend, but it made sense for this part of Brooklyn. Loads of kids were around, and they were close to a park, laughter and happy shouts surrounding them. 

Bucky's hand tightened in Steve’s when some of them got particularly close or overly loud, but he didn't say anything. When Steve glanced over at him, he was staring resolutely at the ground, his eyes trained down. Again, Steve wondered if this was a good idea. He was worried this was going to take the great progress Bucky had made and destroy it. But Bucky's therapist had said it was a good idea. Bruce always erred on the side of gentle with Bucky, something Steve appreciated. 

They reached the familiar brownstone. It looked much like the rest of them, and had Steve not seen it a thousand times before he wouldn't have been able to tell one house from the next. But there in the pavement, just to the side of the front steps, were the initials BB, SR, and BB roughly carved in what had been wet cement once upon a time. Bucky and Steve had drawn it with a stick, and then Becca had seen them and said she'd tell their Ma's if she wasn't allowed to do hers too. Bucky had been annoyed, but Becca had seemed thrilled to carve her name into the almost dry cement. All of the letters were messy, sure signs of children's handwriting, and Steve smiled despite himself. He had so many good memories of this place. 

Bucky was staring up at the front door as he chewed his lower lip absently. Steve saw countless emotions on his face, from confused, to trying to remember things, to sadness, to something akin to joy. Steve didn't say anything, instead letting Bucky process his emotions and say something when he was ready. After lingering there for several minutes, Bucky said nothing and just squeezed Steve's hand. Their palms were sweaty, but Steve wasn't going to let go no matter how hot it was. Bucky liked holding his hand, and Steve liked giving Bucky nice things. 

"You know you don't have to do this, right?" Steve said. He knew it was potentially a great idea, but Bucky had to know there was a way out. He had to know that there was always a choice and another option. 

Bucky nodded and steeled himself visibly. The muscles in his jaw twitched and he straightened his posture, wincing as it hurt his shoulder. 

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

Bucky shook his head, swallowing heavily. He breathed a little more harshly through his nose before normalising it again. 

"You sure they still live here?" Bucky's voice sounded rough, as if he hadn't used it in some time. It had really been no more than ten minutes. He'd been as chatty as he ever was (which really wasn't a lot, if Steve thought about it; and that was something he actively tried not to do) on the subway, but as soon as they'd come up those stairs he'd fallen into a nervous silence, gripping Steve's hand like a lifeline.

Steve nodded. Part of him hoped that they weren't home, but a larger part hoped that they were. All this way, all this fear, for nothing? It might be harder to coax Bucky back here next time. It was afternoon of the Shabbat; Winnie was always home at this time, as was George. He didn't know if Becca still came home. Bucky hadn't observed Shabbat since he was about 15, unless it suited him and he had assignments he wished to avoid. 

Bucky exhaled slowly and finally let Steve's hand drop. The cool breeze on his hand felt strange after Bucky's sweaty grip. Bucky rolled his head around and cracked his neck, rubbed his left arm absently, tugging at his 3/4 sleeves as if they could hide the invisible injury. Steve tried not to think about that too.

"Okay," Bucky said, nodding sharply. 

"I'll be right there," Steve said, pointing at the Kosher ice cream store on the corner of the street, just across the road from the small park. Bucky nodded again, barely seeing him, and took the few stairs to the front door two at a time. 

He watched the door open, heard a gasp, a sob, Bucky's quiet "Mama?", and then watched Bucky be pulled inside. It had gone exactly as Steve had hoped. He hadn't expected anything negative from the Barnes' though; they were one of the kindest families he'd ever met. It didn't matter that Bucky had disappeared for years; all that would matter to them was that he was home now. He could still hear Winnie's desperate voice in his mind, how she'd sounded a few months back when she'd heard that Bucky was alive and back. Guilt gripped Steve, but he shook it away. The door caught slightly as it closed, the same uneven tilt in it that had been there his whole life. And then, it was as quiet as a Brooklyn street near a park could be on a Saturday afternoon. With that said, it could hardly be described as quiet. 

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and crossed the street. The ice cream store wasn't all that different from when he was growing up. God, he hadn't been here in ages. Unfortunately, Joseph wasn't in, and he was instead served by some acne-riddled teenager that gave him a huge grin when he came in. The store had aged, but they still had his favorite flavors. He ordered a small cone, his stomach turning uncomfortably. He didn't have much of an appetite; he was too nervous about how things were going with Bucky. 

An hour passed before his phone buzzed with a message. He'd been snarling over  _ Candy Crush _ level 147, but he was not going to let it win. It was a relief when the message from Bucky interrupted his furious swiping, and not just because it saved his screen. 

_ BB: My parents want to know if you want dinner. _

Good. That… that was good. Right? 

_ SR: Do you want to stay for dinner? _

_ BB: Yes please _

_ SR: Do you want *me* there for dinner? _

The answer took a little longer to arrive, but when it did it was in the affirmative. 

Steve had seen Bucky's parents several times since Bucky had gone missing. In those first few months he'd spent a lot of time with them, all of them fearful and devastated at Bucky’s sudden disappearance. Steve had joined them in their fights with the police to argue that Bucky was missing, that he'd never just disappear like this. But as their efforts proved more and more fruitless, he'd seen them less. He still saw them once or twice a year, particularly at Hanukkah. With his own parents gone, the Barnes' were the closest thing to family he had left. Steve had been baptised Catholic, but his Mom had hardly been a god-fearing woman. If anything, she'd put the fear in God. 

He hadn't seen the Barnes' in a long while though. He’d missed last Hanukkah and he'd completely forgotten that Becca had been pregnant until that very moment. Shit, no, she'd probably given birth already. Shit! 

When he finally knocked on the Barnes' door he was convinced he was going to throw up his ice-cream. He didn't know why he was so nervous. He'd spoken to Winnie a few times over the past months to keep her updated on Bucky's progress. But it was another thing to see her. 

The door flew open and Winnie was there with open arms and a watery grin. Her face was red and puffy from the tears she'd no doubt shed over the last hour, but despite that she still looked put together. 

"Steve!" she cried, pulling him inside and into a squishy hug. "So good to see you! It's been so long." 

How Bucky had ended up over six feet tall continued to perplex him, given that Winifred Barnes was a bare inch over five. Steve practically bent in two in order for her to kiss his cheeks, no doubt leaving lipstick smears on his face. It was always so much worse on Saturdays for some reason. 

"Hi Winnie," Steve said weakly, hugging her back. She smelled sweet, like she always did, and wrapped her fingers around his wrist as she tugged him into the front sitting room of the brownstone. Bucky was sitting there with George. His face was tired, but there was little evidence of tears, at least. He gave Steve a tight smile and waved at him. 

"Steve! Long time, no see!" George said, standing up to hug Steve as well. "You're looking good, old friend. Looking good." He squeezed Steve's bicep. "Can't believe how you grew up. You were such a weedy little runt… Who'da thunk it, you know?"

"Thanks…" Steve grimaced. He was used to it by now. It didn't matter how frequently he saw the Barnes', George always commented on his growth spurt. He walked over to Bucky and stood beside him, hand going to rub gently at the back of Bucky's neck where his collar usually sat. Bucky relaxed a little under the touch. They'd decided before they came over that they'd remove his collar for this excursion. There were going to be enough terrifying questions without it.

Bucky looked up at him and gave him another little smile. He looked well and truly drained, and the edges of his mouth trembled. 

"Let me get you something to drink, Steve," Winnie gushed. 

"Winnie, sit down. He's been here enough, he can get it himself," George said, easing himself back into his old recliner. Steve was pretty sure the damn recliner was older than he was. It had been a permanent fixture in the front room for as long as Steve had known the family. 

"He's a  _ guest _ ," Winnie sniped back as she toddled off to the kitchen. "I'll get you something to eat too, Stevie. Big boy like you is probably always hungry." 

Steve rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. He didn't bother insisting that he wasn't hungry and that dinner would be soon; Winnie had never accepted that as an excuse, and at nearly sixty, she likely wasn't about to start now. Instead he sat beside Bucky, remembering at the last second that they needed to put some distance between them. He didn’t press his leg against Bucky's as they usually did back at their apartment. The Barnes' had been very accepting of Bucky's sexuality, but it was probably something else to have them think Steve and Bucky were involved. They weren't, but if they touched too much they might assume. And worse, they might be happy at that development. Knowing them, they would be  _ delighted _ , now that he thought about it. He didn't want to disappoint them with the information that no, he and Bucky weren't together, that they were just in some weird power exchange as Bucky recovered from years of brainwashing and torture. No thanks, that was not the conversation he wanted to be having today. 

"So, Steve, Bucky was telling me that you're still working for Stark. How's that going for you?" 

"Uhhh…" Steve said, eyes darting over to Bucky. He didn't want to interrupt their family reunion, least of all to talk about himself. His eyes fell onto the heavy books on the coffee table in front of him, and, oh! Photo albums! He leaned forward to pick one up. The pictures glued to the page were of Becca, large and heavily pregnant.  _ Very _ heavily pregnant. "Did Becca give birth?"

"Not yet. Any day now. Wouldn't be surprised if we get a call tonight, for all we know!" George said, easing his recliner back. "It's gonna be twins, apparently."

"Jesus," Steve said, looking down at the picture again. She looked tired, but her smile stretched across her face in undeniable joy. 

"Language!" Winnie scolded as she entered the living room again with an overflowing plate. She set the plate down beside Steve, ruffling his hair as she went. Steve, having anticipated the ruffling, had avoided his usual hair routine and ensured that it was free of any product. 

"We were just about to show Bucky some pictures," Winne said, taking a seat on Bucky's other side. She grabbed Bucky’s hand and wrapped her arm around him, threading her fingers through his. "We know he can't remember much but we thought this might be a nice trip down memory lane, you know?" Her voice wavered and she visibly swallowed her tears before shaking her head and steeling herself. She leaned over and fussed with Bucky's hair, smoothing it back even though it hadn't fallen around his face. 

"You've got such long hair, dear. It looks… nice." 

Steve saw through the lie. Winnie no doubt hated the long hair, and would probably die if she knew Bucky had a tattoo or two. But she wasn't about to argue with Bucky about his hair of all things when he couldn't remember a damn thing about himself. 

He'd been surprised that Bucky had kept his hair long too. He'd feared that it might be a bad memory from HYDRA but when Steve had asked him if he wanted to cut it, Bucky had shaken his head and shyly admitted that he liked Steve playing with it each day. Steve had blushed furiously and managed not to stammer his response that Bucky could keep it as long as he wanted then. Truthfully, Steve thought that he might love playing with Bucky's hair almost as much as Bucky seemed to enjoy him doing it. 

They worked their way through the albums, Bucky poring over each page as if staring at them long enough might invoke some memory. Winnie never went far, stroking Bucky’s hand and shifting closer at times before seeming to remember that crowding Bucky might not be the best idea and withdrawing a little. 

Steve watched as Bucky slowly wore out and shrank into himself. The battle in his face was visible: how he wanted to remember, wanted to be close to Winnie, but was fighting with his desire to withdraw, struggling with his guilt about continuing to not remember. He shot Steve a few anxious glances and tucked his hair behind his ears over and over, a nervous habit he seemed to have. 

Desperate to take the pressure off of Bucky, Steve changed the subject to asking about Becca again. They were up to high school in the family albums but there was only so much they could take before he thought Bucky might break down in anxious tears. It was George who seemed to notice this first and when Winnie tried to keep going, George gently nudged her with his shoe. Winnie glanced between him and the miserable looking Bucky, then at the albums. 

"It… It might be time to eat," Winnie said, slowly closing the albums. "Steve uh… Could you take these upstairs please? I got them out of Bucky's room." Her eyes watered with tears but she didn't dab at her eyes. She got up determinedly not looking at them, and went to check how dark it was outside. 

Bucky grimaced at Steve before looking at his knees. Things were going well, Steve reminded himself. Of course it wouldn't be all smiles and laughter, not given the history. He saw the mood shift constantly from one of joy, where Winnie or George would just beam at Bucky, before going back to sadness, and back to joyful again. It had been an emotional afternoon, for sure. Every so often he'd see them start to ask something before holding it back. He got it. Sometimes he wanted to ask things. But the things he really wanted answers to were things that Bucky couldn't answer, even if he wanted to. The answers for the questions Bucky  _ could _ provide tended to be things Steve sometimes preferred not to have explanations for, if only because they turned his stomach and stoked a wildfire of fury inside him. 

"C'mon, Buck," Steve said, pushing himself up off the old couch. "Help me take these upstairs." Bucky got up obediently and trailed after him like a lost puppy, all sad eyes and floppy feet. The polished wooden stairs creaked in the same three spots they always had under his feet, and he watched as Bucky stepped in such a way that they didn't creak, twisting his foot to the side seemingly without thinking about it. 

The Barnes' family home was beautiful, and probably worth more money than Steve would make in several years. If it hadn't belonged to George's father, he doubted the Barnes would have lived there. The floorboards were freshly polished, even on the third floor where Bucky's room remained. Bucky and Becca hadn't lived at home for years but their rooms were still kept in excellent condition. Winnie no doubt kept fresh sheets on the bed and the rooms free of dust, lest an unexpected guest should ever appear. 

It was always strange stepping back into Bucky's old bedroom, all these years later. He'd spent so much of his life hanging out in there, lounging on that rug, occasionally getting high on that bed, the large bay windows thrown open. The bedcovers were the same as they'd been over ten years ago, a blue and white checkered pattern that Bucky had insisted more grown up than his Ninja Turtles covers. The photo albums clearly belonged on the bottom shelf of the tall bookcase in the corner, their absence notable as the old university textbooks slumped in the space they'd left. Steve knelt to replace them, pushing  _ Software Architecture in Practice, Third Edition _ to the side. He paused, frowning at the book, and turned around to get a good look at Bucky. Bucky stared around the room, no longer seeming tired and emotional, just interested. He seemed to feel Steve's eyes on him and looked at him within seconds, a little smile on his face. 

Steve pulled the textbook out and held it up. "Some light reading?" Steve joked. Bucky took a few steps forward and and took the textbook from him. He flicked through a few pages before frowning. 

"Hmm, that's wrong," he commented absently, eyebrows pinched. Steve stood to look over his shoulder. There were handwritten equations on a page that had some diagrams but no other equations. A few things were scribbled out, but the scrawl was unmistakably Bucky's. "I also don't know what Bernoulli is doing in a computer engineering textbook, but I can tell you it's wrong." He snapped the textbook shut and handed it back to Steve. "I also don't know how I know that." His eyes widened as he inhaled sharply. It was the most he'd sounded like the old Bucky since he'd returned; he hadn't even used 'Steve' in the space where he might usually put 'Sir'. 

Steve thought better than to comment on that, instead going with an easier, "What is Bernali?" 

"Bernoulli, Steve," Bucky corrected. "It's hydrodynamics. I hate hydrodynamics." He frowned again, eyes narrowing. "I… Also don't know how I know that. Was… Was this my room?" 

Steve struggled to hide his smile. "It was. Ringing any bells?"

Bucky shook his head, eyes darting between Steve's face and the bookshelf. He seemed unable to look away. "No. Sorry, Steve." 

Steve shrugged and reminded himself that this had been Bucky's idea and not his own. "Bruce warned you that you might never get your memories back. Doesn't mean you shouldn't ever see your family again. People get amnesia all the time and they still get to see their loved ones." 

Bucky returned his weary smile. "My mind doesn't know it, but my body seems to. It's... It's weird."

"That's not a surprise, really. You have some of his old mannerisms too." 

Bucky finally ended the war between looking at Steve and the bookcase by looking at the floors and saying softly, "I can't be him, Steve." 

Steve’s insides flip-flopped and tightened with guilt. "That wasn't what I meant." 

The grimace on Bucky's face told him that he didn't believe Steve. 

"Hey," Steve told him, voice softening. "Whoever you are, I'm here for him." 

"Sure, Steve," Bucky sighed and rubbed at his left arm absently, fingertips kneading his forearms gently. Steve could never tell if it was because it hurt or if it was just a comfort thing these days. Something built in the room; the air shifted. Bucky seemed to shrink in on himself again and his hand moved up to rub at his neck where his collar usually sat. He'd done that several times throughout the afternoon, face falling each time he remembered that he was without his safety blanket. 

Steve took a cautious step toward him, moving like Bucky was a scared animal that would flee if approached too quickly. "Bucky," he said slowly. "What do you need?" 

Anxiety riddled Bucky's face and he bit his lower lip, jaw muscles working. "I… I don't…"

"Bucky," Steve said, voice harder as he took another step towards him. Pronouncing each word slowly and with increasing force, he repeated: "What do you need?" 

Despite their similarity in height, it always felt like Bucky looked up at him. It was all in the way he tilted his chin and used his eyelashes like a goddamn weapon. Bucky took a shaky breath. "I… I don't…" 

"Bucky." With his third step, they were inches from each other, chest to chest. It didn't matter how many moments like this they shared, it never ceased to take Steve’s breath away. 

"Please," Bucky breathed, his voice thin and needy. 

"'Please' what?" Steve's voice was soft, as if speaking at his normal volume would break the moment that had formed around them. 

Bucky's eyes became more desperate, if possible. He opened and shut his mouth but no words came out until finally, "I… I don't know. Just…" 

Steve did know. He reached out and his hand found its usual place in Bucky's hair, his fingertips dragging along the scalp. Bucky's eyelids fluttered and he released a tiny gasp. Steve's grip tightened and he lowered his hand slowly, dragging Bucky to his knees. Bucky moved with him, breathing heavily. A soft moan escaped his mouth. 

His other hand found its way to Bucky's throat. Bucky made another happy sound. His slitted eyes met Steve's, pleading and desperate.

"You're doing good, Buck. I'm proud of you," Steve told him in a low voice as he bent forward and rested his forehead against Bucky's. "I'm sorry you can't wear your collar right now, but just remember: collar or not, _ you're still mine _ . You got that?" 

The keening sound Bucky made went right to Steve’s gut and after that, his cock. Bucky gave a minute nod and bit his lip again. Steve tightened his hand on Bucky's throat, temporarily cutting off the blood flow. When Bucky started to kick out some indeterminable time later, Steve released his throat, though he still kept the other hand in Bucky’s hair. Bucky gasped and fell forward, letting out a muffled sob as he threw his arms around Steve's leg and hugged his thigh. Steve loosened his grip on Bucky's hair, but didn't release it. 

"There we go," Steve exhaled as he felt the tension leave Bucky's back. "Feel better now?" 

Bucky nodded and rubbed his face against Steve's jeans. "Thank you, Steve." 

"No need to thank me. I'm happy to do it. I  _ want _ to do it. You know why?"

"Because I'm yours?" Bucky guessed, voice still muffled by Steve’s jeans.

"Exactly. Because you're mine, and when you're hurting I want to help you. You know being mine is more than just making my bed and kneeling for me, right?" He felt another nod against his thigh. "This is an  _ exchange _ . And I like to look after my things." He pulled Bucky back a little with a gentler hand in his hair then before. "Now, do you need anything else?" 

Bucky had been learning; he took a few moments to think about it before he shook his head. He hugged Steve's leg for a little longer though. Steve let him, smoothing the hair he'd mussed back down. Adrenaline that he hadn't realized had built in him eased, and he exhaled. Bucky sat back onto his heels after another minute and rubbed his face. 

"I-," Bucky started, going to make an apology he didn't need to make. 

"It's okay." Steve cut him off. "It's been an intense day." 

A little smile eased the worry in Bucky's face and he nodded. He looked around again and his eyes fell once again on the bookshelf. He crawled over to it and pulled a few books down, stacking them into a small pile beside him. Steve followed, curious at what had struck Bucky’s fancy but he was unable to pick out any rhythm or reason to it. He saw a few of his old favorites though:  _ Lord of the Rings _ in all its battered glory,  _ Song of Achilles _ in just as bad a shape, and  _ Ender's Game _ , to name a few. Maybe they would help Bucky to remember something He'd remembered hating hydromatics, after all. And if not, well, he'd get to enjoy them anyway. 

"They look interesting," Bucky said with a shrug, as if he could hear Steve's silent question. "Might help with the memories. Might not. I saw something online where a girl said she wished she could watch her favorite movies again for the first time. I guess I get to do that." 

Steve chuckled. "Sure thing, pal. Just remember we have to carry all of these home." 

Bucky frowned at the pile, now a foot tall and growing. "Oh yeah… Do you think my Ma would bring some over one day? Or we could visit again?"

"That sounds like a great idea. I bet she'd love that." 

After they finished putting away the photo albums and had reclaimed several of Bucky's old books, they made their way downstairs again. Winnie had laid out a veritable feast, as she always did whenever someone was visiting. Steve had been a frequent enough visitor that she'd stopped spoiling him, considering him a second son rather than a guest by the time he was ten. As soon as Steve had gone off to college and stopped being a regular feature around the house he'd earned it back and she always made sure he left two pant sizes larger. It appeared today was not an exception. 

Dinner was leisurely, an almost relaxed affair compared to the afternoon. Bucky sat beside him and held his hand underneath the tablecloth. Steve didn't try to say no, instead running his thumb over Bucky's knuckles absently. Dinner passed with significantly more ease than earlier, and there was even laughter. It felt lighter. A warmth started to grow inside him that had nothing to do with the very small glass of wine that he drank. 

Once the candles had been lit, they said their goodbyes. Winnie pulled Steve aside and gave him a hug that surely replaced any need for a chiropractor. 

"Thank you for taking such good care of him," she said beside his ear. "Thanks for bringing my baby home." 

Steve managed to not let the tears that sprung to his eyes fall, but only just. He cleared his throat and rid himself of the lump there too. Another victory, really. 

"It's no problem." 

"Come visit again soon?" she asked as she withdrew, grabbing his hand briefly and squeezing. 

"Of course," Steve promised. "Let's not leave it so long between meetings next time."

She gave him another kiss on the cheek and finally let him go. Once the front door was closed, Bucky shifted the reusable grocery bag of books he’d been carrying to his other arm, and grabbed Steve's hand. 

"Hey, none of that," Steve admonished. When Bucky shrank back, expression blank, Steve laughed. "No, no, I mean. Don't. Don't carry that on your injured shoulder. Let me." He took the bag off of Bucky's shoulder and added it to his own, where it joined his own heavy bag of books. 

Bucky grinned and quietly threaded his fingers between Steve's again. Rationally, Steve knew it was probably just Bucky's anxiety after a stressful day and being out in public. But when Bucky didn't let go, even when they finally made it home and watched yet another episode of  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine _ , Steve couldn't help but hope that maybe it was more than anxiety. 

Hope was a dangerous thing. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings as per usual for... IDK, just the whole fic???

**July**

**_HYDRA: Is it a sex cult, or is it just good ole BDSM?_ **

_ 87,493 views _ \- 👍 _ 2.8K _ \- 👎 _ 124 _ \-  _ Share + Save _

WhipsandBitches

Published on 9 Jul 2018

_ [A petite, pretty blonde woman appears on the screen. She waves enthusiastically at the camera. Behind her is a gray wall and hanging from it are several floggers of various sizes, bondage equipment, and naturally colored jute rope.] Hi everyone, this is Cassidy! So today we're going to be doing a video about something a little different. I know we usually do kink how-to's, and I try to help new folks to have a deeper understanding of kink that uh…  _ great _ books such as Fifty Shades simply don't cover.  _

_ In the video I've linked down below, I've talked about consent, and the various ways you can approach kink. Today, though, I'm going to give you a run-down of everything that’s happening with HYDRA and Doctor Alexander Pierce. It's been pretty intense online in the BDSM communities, and has even become a rather big issue in the vanilla world. There are people all over the place writing about it, news articles left, right, and centre, and  _ so _ much jargon, oh my god!  _

_ So I thought I'd talk about that today.  _

_ So Pierce is a psychiatrist here in New York. He's on the board of a bunch of hospitals, and his programs on treating difficult disorders have been considered revolutionary. He does a lot of conditioning, and a lot of psychological manipulation to help a variety of people. So in some ways, it's no surprise he does the kind of Master-slave stuff he does. But yanno, psychiatrists are supposed to have ethics, and not abuse their knowledge.  _

_ But what exactly did he do? Was it wrong? Let's explore! _

_ So BDSM is founded on things like consent. Remember safe-sane-consensual and risk-aware-consensual-kink? Notice how both of these practices contain the word  _ consent _? Yeah, that's because it's fucking important!  _

_ Now, the case has slowly revealed things, such as Pierce and his friends having those who "train" under them sign contracts. That's actually pretty common in the deeper ends of D/s and M/s. My Master was trained in a similar way, under the Old Guard. When he met me and started training me, we worked on a contract together that stated my limits and needs. So that bit in itself isn't that difficult. But wowwie, have you seen this contract? It's  _ nuts! _ I would have run at the sight of it, but I kind of understand why some might stick around, particularly if you've got this person already manipulating you.  _

_ [On screen, a scanned contract appears, the words grainy: _

A True Slave has no limits. 

the slave shall not safe word at any point. To invoke the safe word will result in any punishment that The Master sees fit. 

the slave shall obey without question. To question is to doubt The Master, and will result in punishment. _ ]  _

_ The initial contract was for a year, which, kind of nuts but you do you, boo. But most initial contracts don't last more than three months, six months tops. This is because you learn a lot about others in that time, and often need to renegotiate these things. Now, maybe if Pierce were your average Dudebro on Reddit, I might assume he was just naive. But nope, I truly believe he knew what he was doing. By making the contract as it was, and making it a year, he had time to really work his "Domly Magic" as it were. Or rather, by having his slaves there for a year, he had time to condition them to the point that even if they wanted to say 'no', they couldn't.  _

_ Now, if that doesn't sicken you enough, you know what's worse? Part of the contract was to hand over your passport, social security, drivers license, birth certificate, bank cards, insurance details, anything that basically proved who you were. You take those away from a person, get them to sign a contract saying they can't leave, and start using techniques utilised in psychiatry… Suddenly leaving becomes infinitely harder. _

_ This doesn't even touch on what we know about abuse and how hard it is to leave. Surely by now, though, you're all well aware of how hard abusive relationships are to leave. Sometimes they balance their cruelty out with kindness. Sometimes they make you believe what's happening to you is something you deserve. Sometimes they tell you that what you're experiencing isn't that bad but rather that you lack a strength of character, or body. But people have asked why these slaves didn't leave? Well, aside from the fact that they were literally chained to something half the time, and were in rural upstate New York with nowhere to go… They likely felt completely unable to leave mentally anyway.  _

_ The videos that HYDRA uploaded have been removed but others have uploaded them since. I'm not going to link them because I think it's  _ sick _ but if you want to go find them, god speed and all the rest to you. Now these are also being used as evidence, and if we didn't know all the other details, things would be a little trickier. Because if you've seen them, then you'll know that their content is… well, it's goddamn extreme. I'm a heavy player but they unsettled me. The part that was worse was that only  _ one _ of the slaves in the video, named  _ Summer,  _ seemed to enjoy what was happening. Autumn, Winter and Spring each seemed miserable. Of course, some people kink on that. There are more than enough heavy BDSM sites around to know that this is  _ truly _ a positive choice for some people.  _

_ However, knowing that this was done without consent means… people were jerking off to actual torture. And that's what some of the acts demonstrated are being classed as.  _

_ So with all of this in mind, I just want to say… This is not an accurate reflection of the BDSM community. This is a man, likely a sociopathic fucking monster, using his skills as a well-reputed psychiatrist to manipulate and control individuals who trusted him. He took everything away from them, including their ability to leave, and abused them physically and mentally. This is not BDSM! This is not even in the realms of consensual!  _

_ Anyway, all of this is to say… Please don't judge BDSM harshly by this. Most people don't play at this level, even consensually. BDSM is about consent, not abuse, and I'm sorry that the only things that bring media attention to kink are things such as cases like this, Fifty Shades of Grey, and assholes in Australia who don't understand the concepts of safewords. Yes, I'm calling you out, A_Fox_, you piece of shit. No Dark Side Terms of Service to abide by on YouTube.  _

_ Anyway. That's all for today folks. Next week I'll be back with a video on ballet boots. If that interests you, please subscribe to my channel, and don't forget to like this video. Bye, love you all!  _

 

_ * _

 

Steve knew he should feel happy. And… He _was_ happy. In a way. Beside him, Bucky slowly regained his breath. He giggled, something Steve had grown to expect after a session such as the one they’d just had. 

"I did it," Bucky told him through his chuckle, as if Steve hadn't been right there the entire time. He'd been there, hurting Bucky, watching his face as he again successfully dragged an orgasm out of himself without permission. When Steve had agreed to become Bucky's Dominant and help him break the conditioning that had been forcefully implemented into his mind, he'd been expecting things like helping him learn to pick his own clothing again, and how to sleep when he wanted to. He had never anticipated teaching his old best friend how to jerk off and come without permission. 

In a way, Steve wasn't complaining. There was a part of himself (a part he hated) that loved this. It was the part of him that had always yearned to haver Bucky in whatever way he could get him; the part of him that had spent many of his high school years lusting after Bucky.  _ It _ was delighted that he knew what Bucky's face looked and sounded like when he came.  _ It _ was thrilled to finally have answers to the questions that teenage Steve had asked, such as what kinds of things Bucky liked to do to himself. 

But that part of Steve was small. 

Larger parts of him struggled with this. This was not something Bucky would have wanted, right? But what else could Steve do? Who else could help with this? It wasn't exactly the kind of thing to ask Bruce for help with. Steve had tried everything he could, to no avail. This? This had  _ worked _ , as clearly evidenced by the come slowly drying on Bucky's stomach and thighs (and apparently in one spot, on Steve's sweatpants). 

He slowly sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. "Congrats pal," he said, yawning widely. Again, he felt like he'd come with Bucky, a weird sense of release and satisfaction washing over him as Bucky lay in his afterglow. His own cock rested heavy and hard between his legs, but he managed to keep that hidden from Bucky by keeping his knees up.

"Did it without your permission and everything." Bucky laughed and rolled over onto his side, pulling one of the small throw cushions off the couch down to hug to his chest. How he successfully avoided the come splatters, Steve didn't know, but he wasn't complaining. It was endearing,, seeing Bucky curled around the pillow. He saw it each night in bed but it never got old. 

"Yeah, you did," he said, patting Bucky's head gently. "Reckon you might be able to handle this on your own from now on?" 

Bucky's expression changed from one of sleepy satisfaction to a little bewildered and, dare he say, hurt. "Like… without you?"

Steve nodded, surprised at how affected he was by the implication. Steve knew he should have been happy. He was. He was just conflicted. This was what he'd wanted, right? Bucky had been consistently coming without permission now. Steve had done his job. He'd been a good Dominant, just as he'd set out to be. He'd set the task and together they'd seen it through. So why did he feel as if something was cracking beneath him? Why did he feel so  _ sad _ about it? 

"Oh… I." It sounded like Bucky was about to say 'I guess' but he didn't. Instead he  trailed off, frowning at the space in front of him. 

The realization sank over Steve like icy water, making its way down his neck and spine. Steve loved this. He truly loved this weird relationship (if you could even call it that) and all that it entailed. And if Bucky healed, if Steve achieved the objective he'd set out to, then the relationship would come to its natural conclusion.

Was Steve holding back Bucky's progress in some areas because he feared losing what they shared? If Bucky was capable of making his own decisions, if he was completely in charge of himself and didn't rely on Steve, then what use did Steve serve? 

Perhaps he'd even unintentionally sabotaged Bucky's recovery. Fuck. He'd accidentally triggered Bucky last month by simply getting a few words wrong during one of their scenes. How much of that had been truly accidental? Bucky had been mostly fine by dinner, and close to normal the next morning, but Steve had taken weeks to recover and to forgive himself. He was playing with fire every time they played, fearful that one slip of phrase would turn Bucky into a shaking mess, promising him  _ he'd be good, so good, just please don't hurt him _ . 

His stomach twisted at the memory. Steve hoped he never had to see such a thing again, hoped he never  _ caused _ such a thing again. He just had so much power over Bucky still, and it terrified him. Steve wanted Bucky to get better, and that was all. 

Regardless of his intent or his emotions, it was clear that Steve needed to take a step back. Bucky was making excellent progress and the next logical step was to start the detachment process. Bucky could start taking on more of his own responsibilities, even the seemingly benign ones. After all, they were supposed to be breaking his conditioning. Unwittingly, Steve may have been just conditioning him in another way. History was written by the victors, and terrible acts were often done because those that committed them believed they were doing the right thing. 

Steve wouldn't do the wrong thing by Bucky anymore. 

 

*

 

Bucky was getting desperate. Something was wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Steve hadn't welcomed him to his bed in over a week. He hadn't even tied him to the sofa. Bucky had managed to get some rest, but only after three days of fitful, shallow sleep, with more nightmares than that blissful darkness. He woke several times a night, panting and sick with anxiety and terrified of dreams he couldn't remember. 

It was Saturday, and their usual play day. But Steve had barely looked at him. Steve had barely looked at him all week. By the fourth day, Bucky hadn't even had the stomach to go and ask Steve to lock his collar again after his shower. 

Bucky felt entirely helpless. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He’d tried asking Steve for punishment, had tried apologizing for his mystery crime. But Steve had been avoidant. 

Was this some type of punishment? It surely had to be. Bucky had tried to conceal his distress but it had become increasingly difficult. He didn't know what Steve wanted to eat. He didn't know how to act. Steve didn't seem to care if he knelt, or crawled, or walked. It was just like before; he was a mess of confusion and fear and he was always sure that whatever he did, it was wrong and he was going to suffer for it. 

Maybe… Maybe it was a test? HYDRA had tested him a lot. They'd change the rules without telling him, just to see how long it took before he noticed and fixed his behaviour. Then they'd punish him for how long it had taken and for all the infractions he'd incurred in the time between rule change and behaviour adaptation. 

But Steve wasn't HYDRA. He'd said so many times. Steve wouldn't lie to him, right? Steve said he owned Bucky; that he never wanted to break something that was his. He saw how Steve looked after his things; cared for his rope, his shoes, his apartment. He was careful with them, making sure that they didn't get damaged and when they did, going to efforts to repair them. Bucky was Steve's, and Steve wouldn't do anything to hurt him. 

So he tried to be a good boy, a better boy for Steve. But Steve didn't seem to care. 

Maybe Steve had simply stopped caring. 

Maybe he didn't want to be Bucky's Owner anymore. 

The idea twisted his stomach and made him lurch to his feet and stumble to the bathroom. He thought he was going to be sick but nothing came up as he retched over the toilet. Instead he was simply left with a pit in his stomach that nothing seemed to fill. 

He tried harder and harder every day to be a good boy, so that Steve wouldn't want to get rid of him. He did everything perfectly and his anxiety shot to new extremes with every act that went ignored. He missed his Owner. He missed his Owner so much that it physically hurt. 

He had to test. He had to be sure. 

Punishment meant Steve still cared, right? Steve didn't punish Bucky often, but when he did it was to help him with something. Steve didn't enjoy punishment but he did it because he cared about Bucky. Bucky was a good boy who hated breaking any rule. He'd never break a rule intentionally. But he missed feeling like Steve was his Owner. He missed it in ways that burned and ached and throbbed, ways that clawed at his throat and threatened to wring his insides out. 

Maybe if he just did something a little bad, Steve would have to punish him and then things would be okay again. He'd see that Bucky was a good slave, that he'd take any punishment Steve could think of. 

He started with something simple, like eating his dinner without waiting for Steve's permission. Steve watched him with a tight expression, but he eventually  just nodded silently and went back to playing on his phone. Bucky's dinner tasted like cardboard after that, and he couldn't finish it. 

The next day he didn't have dinner ready at all. Steve simply ordered pizza, and ate it in his room. He still gave some of it to Bucky though. Bucky didn't want to eat it, and snuck it into the trash the next morning after Steve left for work. 

He tried not greeting Steve by the door, as had become customary by now. Steve didn't even seem to notice. The silence in the apartment was becoming unbearable and Bucky was close to losing his mind. His head spun constantly and he wasn't sure if that was the anxiety or the fact that he'd barely slept or eaten in a week. 

He wanted to crawl across their small living room and throw himself at Steve's feet to beg for his Owner back. He’d promise to do anything, anything at all, just… Please. He loved his Owner, and he wanted him. Bucky could take care of himself now, could even come on his own. But he  _ wanted _ his Owner.

In one final desperate act, he did the worst thing he could think of. He wasn't sure if he was thinking clearly or not, but it felt like the only option left. 

He heard Steve coming up the stairs, the thump of his heavy steps signalling his arrival as they did every day. His heart leapt into his throat. This had to work, right? He'd remove his collar in front of Steve; a true misbehaviour, one that couldn't be mistaken as laziness or disregard for their rules. It would throw everything back in Steve’s face. Steve would be furious. He'd storm across the room and grab Bucky by the throat and drag him to his knees to put him back in his place. Maybe he'd hurt Bucky just to remind him who was in charge. He'd show Bucky that he still belonged to Steve, even when Bucky doubted it most. He'd tell Bucky that he was tired, but he still expected full obedience from Bucky and that his behaviour for the last two weeks had been entirely unacceptable, and he was going to punish him for it worse than HYDRA ever had. 

Bucky would accept it. He would even be happy for it, because it would mean he had his Owner back. 

The door opened and Steve saw him standing in the middle of the room, not kneeling beside the front door again. Steve raised an eyebrow, expression empty otherwise. 

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as he met Steve's eyes across the room, and he tugged his collar down and off. He was hoping that this would be the final straw for Steve and send a message that all the other things he'd done had failed to do. His heart thundered in his ears and he hated how empty and cold his neck felt without the gentle touch of the collar. It collar hung limply in his hand, the warm leather quickly cooling beneath his fingertips. 

The muscles in Steve's jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. His lips thinned. And yet, he still said nothing. He didn't storm across the room and demand Bucky put it back on. He didn’t insist that Bucky was his. There was no brutal show of Ownership. There was just the sound of Bucky's shallow breathing and in the distant world outside, an ambulance wailing away. 

Instead, Steve finally just nodded, a tiny dip of the head that indicated his acceptance of Bucky's decision, and left the room. He didn't slam the door but Bucky wished he had. The little click of his bedroom door felt worse than any punishment HYDRA had ever bestowed upon him. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the last chapter. :"))))))))
> 
> Warnings for... Pierce being a general prick, and also advocating for slavery???? And Bucky seeing Pierce (so, victim seeing abuser, which may be triggering for some)

**July**

**_Victim Impact Statement - James Buchanan Barnes_ **

_ From: Bruce Banner <brucebanner@breathedeepmedical.com> 10 Jul 2018, 17:17 _

_ To: Phil Coulson <pcoulson@shield.com> _

_ Hi Agent Coulson, _

_ Please find attached a Victim Impact Statement, as per SHIELD's request. Please forward this to the appropriate department as necessary. If you need any changes, or have any questions, please let me know. _

_ Thanks. _

_ Regards, _

_ Bruce Banner, MD/PhD _

_ (917) 555 0166 _

_ —— _

_ VIS - JBB.docx _

_ —— _

_ I was barely 25 when I met Alexander Pierce. Maybe at that age I should have been wiser to his tricks, but I'm told I was always a trusting kind of guy. I've watched some of his videos on YouTube since, and I'm not surprised he fooled me. He's charming as fuck. I don't remember much about meeting him, but given what I'm told about who I was before, I can make some educated guesses. He's charming. He's a doctor. He was experienced, with loads of great references. I did my due diligence, like all the guides online say. I talked to his friends. Why wouldn't I trust a doctor? A guy with a bunch of great reviews online about what a wonderful psychiatrist he was?  _

_ I don't remember meeting him. I don't remember why I signed up. My reasoning now doesn't matter all that much, I guess. What matters is that I apparently trusted him, and I signed up with HYDRA. And then, I couldn't leave.  _

_ Steve tells me that when he found me I was chained up in a cold basement, wet, and hypothermic. I kind of remember that. I certainly remember what I'd done to deserve such a punishment: I'd spilled some tea and Dr. Pierce had given me eight hours down there to atone for it. I remember Rumlow hosing me off before he locked me up.  _

_ I'm told I was gone for four years, but I can't remember. I can't remember anything from before. I can't remember much of while I was there. The memories sometimes come back, little flashes at a time. I remember things like being denied food, and water, sometimes as punishment, sometimes just for fun. I remember being raped almost daily.  I remember being tortured, or some of it anyway. I won't go into details on either of these because you've all seen the videos, I'm sure. What parts I don't remember have been painfully refreshed with video evidence. I remember things then.  _

_ Sometimes I wish I didn't remember the little that I do.  _

_ Maybe things would be better if I couldn't remember?  _

_ Or maybe not. I've had to relearn so much. See, Dr. Pierce has built a career out of conditioning. When I first got back, I couldn't drink water, or eat, or go to the bathroom without permission. I might not remember much, but I remember the depth to which we were all conditioned. I apparently have a Masters in Computer Engineering, so I imagine I'm a pretty smart guy, but Dr. Pierce broke us down to the point that we thought he could read our minds. It feels really stupid now, but if any of you had gone through what we did, I'm sure you'd have been the same.  _

_ We were told to talk about the things we've lost as a result of our time with HYDRA, Dr. Pierce, and his associates.  _

_ Where do I begin? Before this, I had a great job with Hammer Industries as a software reliability engineer, which I obviously no longer have. I had my own place. I apparently had savings to the tune of $12 000, somehow, despite being pretty fresh out of grad school. HYDRA took that. I still have student loans, because HYDRA sure didn't pay those. I can't work right now either given I'm in therapy at least three times a week, and can still barely function on my own. So again, that's more financial suffering as a direct result of HYDRA.  _

_ I'm on eight different kinds of medication, and we still haven't got that right - there are pills to help me sleep, and to help me wake up, and to help me not panic every hour of the day. There are painkillers too. Rumlow broke my left arm at one point while "playing" with me, and except for basic splinting I was not provided with adequate medical treatment. I was in a house with three doctors, and my broken arm was not given appropriate medical attention. As a result it has healed poorly and requires surgery. I have weakness in that arm and struggle to lift anything heavier than three pounds. There is nerve damage too. Some nights I can't sleep because of the pain.  _

_ Some nights I can't sleep because of nightmares. _

_ I'm not sure which is worse.  _

_ And finally, we have the loss of memory. I've had a lot of tests and despite a ton of physical injuries, most damage to my head seems superficial. The doctors can't figure out why I can't remember, at least, not physically. They say it's psychogenic amnesia, and the memories might come back, or they might not. They don't know if I'll ever recover them. What they do know is that for the level of memory loss suffered, a great deal of trauma was endured.  _

_ I didn't remember having a Mom. I didn't remember having a Dad. I didn't remember where I grew up, or what hot chocolate was. I didn't remember having a best friend, having friends, having a life. I still don’t remember, but I've met them all again.  _

_ Do you know how horrible it is to meet your Ma again, and not know a thing about her? To see her trying not to cry because you're not the son she remembers? And you don't know how to be him anymore, because you're not him anymore. People keep expecting you to be the same again, and you're not, and even if you wanted to be, you can't, because you don't remember anything.  _

_ So what did Dr. Pierce and HYDRA take away from me? _

_ They took away my bodily autonomy. They took away my ability to say "no". They took away my ability to run away. They took away my memory. They took away my friends, my family, everything but my living being. And they left me with trauma I'll never get over and injuries that may never heal. They raped, abused, and tortured me, and called it BDSM. They abused their power as medical professionals to get what they wanted.  _

_ I don't think I can say what I think should happen to Dr. Pierce. I trust that the court will decide what is true and fair. But if he gets off with a life sentence, then he'll be getting off lightly.  _

 

*

 

"I want it on the record that I don't like this." Steve's shoulders were in serious danger of permanently melding with his ears, tense as he was.

"Don't have to, Cap," Fury said beside him. His hands, as always, were clasped behind his back, and he seemed relaxed. Steve wanted to know his secret. Was it drugs? A steady supply of Vicodin, ala Gregory House? Insanity? Definitely nothing to do with this being his job, and the fact that he likely dealt with worse on a weekly basis. 

"Is this even legal?" Steve huffed, rolling his neck. 

Fury raised a sardonic eyebrow at him that told Steve exactly what he thought of his dramatics. 

Steve sighed inwardly and reminded himself that this was fine. Fury was right; Bucky had been the one who had asked for this. Nobody was forcing him into it at all. He'd run it past Bruce, he'd run it past Steve. Bruce had been on board and Steve, unable to come up with a decent argument for not doing it other than 'it would stress me out immensely', had also reluctantly agreed. 

Steve tried not to think about Bucky’s last relapse, nor about how he'd unintentionally been the one to trigger it. But Bucky had recovered, even if Steve had taken a little longer to do so. 

On the other side of the one-way mirror before him and Fury was Bucky, alone in what looked to be a cool room. He sat at the metal table with his hands in his lap. His face was calm and blank; Steve hadn't seen him that bad since his first few months back. He still wasn't wearing his collar and whilst he'd rubbed at his neck for most of the journey in, he hadn't touched it as soon as they'd stepped inside SHIELD. 

Steve tried not to think about the collar either. They'd both had nothing but sleepless nights for the last week and half since Bucky had started sleeping in the living room again. And that was just the beginning of it. 

The door opening in the room managed to break his negativity spiral before it could truly begin. He was grateful. He had never anticipated being happy to see Pierce, but here he was. 

Fury leaned forward and pressed a small button in the wall beside him. Steve was now able to hear what was happening in the room, from the soft clink of the chains, to the heavy sound of footsteps, to the grate of the metal chair being dragged across cement floor. 

Bucky sat up taller, shoulders going back and chin rising proudly. The guard led Pierce to the table and used a chain to secure his cuffed hands to a metal bar in the middle of the table before shoving him into the chair. 

"Easy, Gerry," Pierce said, glib as ever. 

"Uh huh," the guard, Gerry, replied. He walked to the corner of the room to guard the door there. There was another guard at the visitors door, as if Pierce was some sort of highly volatile prisoner on the verge of escape. 

Prison did not seem to suit Alexander Pierce. His once well-combed hair was frizzy and lacking gel, unkempt. The nondescript beige jumpsuit did his complexion no favors. Still, he smiled widely at Bucky. 

"Winter, darling. So happy that you finally came to see me." He leaned back in his chair, acting as if he was in his armchair back at the manor rather than cuffed to a metal table in SHIELD's headquarters. This did not appear to be a man that regretted his actions, nor one that believed in his guilt. Steve wanted to punch him. Steve had wanted to punch this guy for close to a year, and there he was right there in the next room. Goddamnit. Steve hated every part of this. 

"My name is Bucky." Bucky's voice was raspy, but steady. It didn't shake, although Steve was willing to bet his Wacom that Bucky was trembling inside. 

"Of course," Pierce agreed, winking at him. "You keep telling yourself that." Bucky was silent, his expression still frustratingly blank as he stared at Pierce. Pierce laughed. "But we all know who you really are. Every person in this room knows  _ what _ you really are. They've seen the videos, the contracts. Do you really believe that you'll be able to escape this? You may be elsewhere, but you'll always be Winter to me."

Bucky said nothing, still resting back in his own chair and silently surveying Pierce. 

"I uh, heard your pathetic little Victim Impact Statement. I have to say, Winter, I thought I trained you better than that." 

"Why'd you do it?" Bucky asked, voice still rough. 

"You submission was a  _ gift _ , Winter. I couldn't let that go to waste. You shaped HYDRA as we know it today. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos, yet  _ you _ showed that slavery is the push it needs back. You did your part, and I did mine. I might get locked away, but if you think that this won't be truly revolutionary, then you're dumber than I ever gave you credit for. HYDRA will give the world the freedom it deserves. They may put me away, but they can't get rid of all of us. We've spread too far. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place." 

Bucky's face remained unchanged, but he cocked his head to the side. "Oh." His voice was quiet. "I understand now."

Pierce gave him a smug look. 

"You're insane." 

The smug look vanished and Pierce narrowed his eyes as he stared at Bucky. "Am I? Or am I speaking the truth that nobody else will? I'm the only one who ever gave you the truth about the world, about who and what you are, Winter. You can try to leave but you will always be mine." 

Bucky slowly stood, every movement purposeful. When he reached his full height he made an intimidating image. He leaned deliberately on the table, weight balanced on his splayed fingertips. His expression had finally changed, though only minimally. But what was there was an icy furnace that Steve hoped he'd never encounter again. 

"My name is Bucky." His voice was cold, almost a hiss. "And you're wrong about me. I am not yours, not anymore."

Pierce huffed a laugh, raising his eyebrows in a mocking challenge. "And whose are you,  _ Bucky _ ?" 

"I'm my own." Steve felt his heart cracking between his ribs, and realized only when he had to gasp in a breath that he had stopped breathing. "And, if he wants me, I'm Steve's. But not yours. Never yours again." He stood back and let his hands drop to his side. His voice was still low, but carried such weight that Steve felt crushed by it in the other room. "I'm not afraid of you anymore. I hope you rot."

And with that, he turned on heel and headed towards the door.

"Ha! Put  _ that _ in your Victim Impact Statement!" Pierce cried after a few seconds, his shellshocked expression morphing into one of irritation. Steve saw it for what it was; a frantic attempt to keep Bucky under his thumb. But part of Pierce's power had always been his calmness. Once he lost that, like Samson and his hair, his power could not be so easily regained. 

"No need," Bucky called with what appeared to be casualness over his shoulder, stopping only to let the guard unlock the door. "I think they've got enough to put you away for a long time. Goodbye, Alexander." 

That seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. He didn't address him as Master, or even as Dr. Pierce. To use his first name with such disregard was a final affront that seemed to leave Pierce truly speechless. Steve honestly felt the same. 

Gerry stepped forward to unchain Pierce and no doubt return him to the Metropolitan Correctional Facility. As he put a hand on Pierce's shoulder, Pierce lashed out, striking the man with a cry of, "Do not touch me!"

The other guard rushed over as they struggled to restrain Pierce, but he fought harder and harder, shouting and yelling obscenities. Eventually they managed to subdue him, pressing his head to the floor with their hands. The whole thing lasted no more than thirty seconds and in that time Bucky joined Fury and Steve in the other room. 

Steve shook himself a little as he dragged his gaze away from the scene and to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes still burned with such ferocity that Steve struggled not to look away. Steve yearned to pull him into his arms and whisper how proud he was of Bucky, but he didn't. That wasn't allowed anymore. What they had had was irreparably broken. 

"He won't be getting out, will he?" Bucky asked Fury, voice with more shake in it than when he'd had speaking to Pierce. Now that Steve looked closer, Bucky was trembling all over. Whether it was fear or adrenaline, he didn't know, but it took every ounce of strength not to try and ease it for him. 

Fury gave Bucky a smile. "Doubtful. He's got Andreotti. He hates people like him. He's as good as gone, particularly given the evidence we've compiled, thanks to you and a couple others." He took a step towards Bucky, the kindest expression Steve had ever seen on the man's face. "Thank you for everything you've done. You did good, kid." 

Bucky's mouth tightened into a semblance of a smile, and he nodded. Fury left the room. 

Steve was reeling at everything he'd just witnessed. The way Bucky had stood up to Pierce like that… The way Bucky had decreed himself his  _ own _ . How he would be Steve's, if Steve wanted. And god, did Steve want. His insides were an overwhelming blend of heartbroken and joyful. Bucky… couldn't really mean that… Could he? 

When Bucky looked over at Steve, his expression was one of anxious hope that seemed to drop when he saw Steve's face. 

"Ready to go home, pal?" Steve asked, steeling himself for the journey. It would no doubt be another trip with tense silence where he couldn't touch, couldn't hold, couldn't protect. Bucky didn't need his protection anymore, and he should have been glad for that. In many ways he was. Jesus, his mind was a mess—an emotional, sleep-deprived mess. 

Bucky nodded and stared at the ground.

"Hey, I'm proud of you," Steve told him. His words sounded fake to his own ears despite the truth in them. 

He got another nod, and the same tight smile. "Yeah. Thanks." Bucky dragged his eyes up again to look at Steve. "I. Can I have a hug?"

Steve exhaled heavily, a giddying kind of relief surging through him and convoluting his already confusing emotions. "Of course." He drew Bucky into his arms, wrapping them around Bucky's shoulders. Bucky rested against him, trembling faintly. Steve hated every second of it. This was all he wanted in the world, all he had wanted for as long as he could remember. And it was still the one thing he couldn't have. 

But he knew he was doing the right thing. 

Wasn't he?

 

*

 

It was probably the after effects of adrenaline that him that made him braver than normal. Seeing Pierce had had an effect on him that he hadn't expected; he'd anticipated more fear, to have to work harder to keep the panic response down. It had been there, definitely, but seeing Pierce had been freeing in a way he hadn't expected. He had realized exactly what he'd said to Pierce: he  _ wasn't _ scared anymore; not of Pierce anyway. Not of HYDRA. It wasn't the end to all of his problems, not even close. But it was a bigger step forward than he had dared to hope for.  

His lightheaded exhaustion felt so far away. Giddy on that feeling, Bucky felt ready to take on the world. Or at least take on the problems between he and Steve. After the last two weeks Bucky hadn't dared to hope. He had felt entirely lost in ways he had never wanted to feel again. If whatever weird dynamic he and Steve shared was damaged beyond repair, he wanted to know that. And if it could be mended, then shit, he was going to do everything in his power to do so. 

The journey home was as silent as it had been going in, but it felt entirely different. The energy heading into Manhattan had been tense, uncomfortable, miserable. This? This was charged, intense, something crackling between them like electricity waiting to burst out. Bucky was sure he was going to break out of his skin if he didn't deal with it in some way. He had never had a nail biting habit but he wanted to attack his nails with his teeth, as if that would resolve the tension and ease the twisting in his stomach. 

He hadn't expected Steve to come back to the apartment with him. It was a work day, and maybe if things were normal he'd have hoped for it, but things  _ weren't _ normal. Inwardly he was delighted that Steve did; it had to mean he cared, right? The past two weeks aside, Bucky had ample evidence that Steve did care. If anything, Steve probably felt he cared too much. 

"You handled that so well, Buck," Steve said again quietly as they walked down the subway stairs. "Guess uh, guess you  _ really _ don't need me anymore, huh? You've been doing well lately. I'm. I'm proud of you." 

Bucky wanted to snap and ask him in what universe he'd been "doing well"? Because if you asked Bucky, he'd barely eaten, barely slept, and felt constantly sick. Even Bruce had commented on it. 

But he supposed by some fucked up measure of Steve's he might have been doing well. When he'd first come into Steve's possession he had been physically unable to do so many things without direct permission. He hadn't been able to go to the bathroom without permission, nor to eat or sleep, unless he'd been told he could. He certainly hadn't been able to come without it. Now, he was practically independent! He fed himself, slept, and even dressed without having to ask Steve what to wear. If it had been Steve's goal to give him that power back, he had succeeded months ago. Bucky didn't obey Steve anymore because he was helpless without his orders; he did it because he loved doing it for Steve. 

Nothing thrilled him more than when Steve got him to sit at his feet, thanked him for making dinner, and braided his hair. He loved it when Steve sent him into his closet to get some toy to hurt Bucky with. Few things made him feel as treasured as Steve tying the rope around his collar each night and securing him to the bed. Bucky could undo it at any time, but it was the symbolism behind it. Steve wanted to  _ keep _ him. 

So why would he say that Bucky didn't need him anymore? Bucky hadn't  _ needed _ Steve for months. Bucky had only  _ wanted _ Steve, had only served him and been his submissive out of desire. Steve… thought Bucky still needed him? 

His mind was reeling as they got on the subway. Steve made sure there was at least an inch between their thighs. Steve usually pressed his thigh against Bucky's when they sat beside each other. He wasn't as tactile as Bucky, but he seemed to know that physical touch soothed Bucky and always seemed to be seeking Bucky's body out with his own; not sexually, just… to touch. To ground. To be there.

Bucky trusted Steve with more than just his body—he trusted Steve with his mind too. Steve hurt him, but never took him to the point that he thought he might break. He never hurt him in a way that confused Bucky, and only when he was asked for it. It was a power exchange, but often it felt like all Bucky did was take and all Steve did was give. He never seemed to want anything for himself other than to see Bucky smile, to see him happy and healthy. 

Something clicked. 

Of  _ course _ ! That stupid self-sacrificing asshole. He'd started to care too much and had probably distanced himself, telling himself that it was one thing to help Bucky in a time of need, but was another if he actually dare enjoy it. 

He didn't remember what Steve had been like before but he knew the Steve of the last year. And the Steve of the last year was absolutely the kind of idiot who'd fall in love with Bucky and deal with it by pulling away. That had to be it, right? He couldn't think of why else he'd gone from doting and sweet, from touching Bucky without thinking, from always reaching for him, to distant and miserable. 

Torn between fury and frustration, possible relief, and elation at how things with Pierce had gone, Bucky wasn't sure how the fuck he made it home sane. He wanted to sit on the sidewalk to laugh hysterically and sob at the same time, all while tearing Steve a new one for what he was putting them through. 

When they made it inside the apartment, Steve disappeared into the kitchen. He'd barely looked at Bucky for the full journey home, and getting inside didn't change it. He heard Steve clattering around and making something to eat. He tried to figure out what he wanted to say, but everything felt wrong and flat. He… He needed to sort his jumbled thoughts out. 

Steve reentered the living room with two bowls. He hadn't asked Bucky if he was hungry, but he set the bowl in front of him on the coffee table before taking his own to the little dining table in the corner. Then he pulled out his phone and started tapping away at it as he ate the reheated stir fry from the evening before. Again, he barely spared Bucky a glance. 

Bucky's insides were going to boil over. 

He wanted to say something, anything, but his thoughts were too jumbled. He had to make them make sense before he spoke. He breathed in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. His appetite hadn't returned but he knew he needed to eat too. The chicken was chewy and tasteless like cardboard going down his throat, but he managed. 

By the time he was done, Steve had finished as well. Without being asked, Bucky took both of their bowls into the kitchen. He was still mulling over his thoughts and trying to figure out what the fuck to say. Nothing seemed to work. His mind a mess. Steve… Steve thought Bucky didn't need him? Did Steve think Bucky was going to leave now? 

Bucky could think of little worse. 

"Okay, that's it," Bucky snapped finally, dropping the bowls in the sink. They clattered loudly and splashed sudsy water over his front, but miraculously didn't break. He jammed the faucet off, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he all but stomped into the living room. Steve was drawing something on his Wacom with smooth slow upward strokes. His expression was dull, almost bored. He didn't even glance up when Bucky dramatically entered the room. 

This was bullshit, Bucky decided, walking past him to his futon in the corner. He dug around under his pillow for the collar, finding it easily given he clutched it each night as he slept. He dragged his cushion in front of Steve, who only now raised his eyes from his drawing to look at Bucky. 

"What?" Steve asked tonelessly. 

Bucky knelt in front of him, as he'd become so accustomed to doing. Steve had liked things differently and Bucky had loved that. He'd learned Steve's ways because he loved Steve. He may not have been the same Bucky, they may not have been the old Bucky and Steve, but what they'd shared had been special. He'd fallen terribly in love with Steve as slave and Owner, and he loved Steve now, as this new, lesser Bucky. 

"This is stupid," Bucky informed him. "I don't know exactly what you're trying to achieve, but it's stupid." 

"And what exactly do you think I'm trying to achieve here?" 

"I think you fell in love with me, and decided that it was somehow ethically or morally wrong, or some bullshit, and then, instead of talking to me like a normal adult, you decided to punish us both by just ending whatever we had going on." 

The way Steve's expression shuttered told him he was right. 

"You probably decided that instead of being capable of making my own decisions, which, I should mention, you've spent the last year training me to have the ability to do again, that you could make it for me. But here's the thing, Steve. You probably decided that I was doing things for you, not because I want to, but because I feel like I owe you. Because I needed you. And yeah, I  _ do _ feel like I owe you. But I don't do what we do because I feel like I owe you. And I certainly don't do it because I  _ need _ you. I do what we do because I like sharing that with you. I like being yours. I like you being my Owner." His words, which had started out frustrated and bordering on angry, slowed as his emotions caught up with him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I  _ love _ you being my Owner. I miss you being my Owner."

He held the leather collar up for Steve again. He'd put it in his right hand so that Steve wouldn't see his arm trembling. That seemed that had been a moot point in the end anyway, his emotions overwhelming him to the point that he shook. 

"Please… Be my Owner again. I don't do this because I need it… I do it because I want it. I want to take care of you, same as you want to take care of me. It's an  _ exchange _ , Steve. And it's an exchange I still want to share with you, if you're still willing." His words caught in his throat, but he swallowed and pushed on. "You can sit there and tell me you don't want this. That you started acting weird because you realized you didn't like what we had. But we both know you'd be lying. And sure, there ain't no rules against you lying, but there is for me. You loved me being your submissive just as much as I loved being it, and that's the whole truth and nothing but." 

Despite his best efforts and his strongest hopes, he felt his heart in his throat and his eyes starting to burn with unshed tears. "I  _ want _ to submit to you, Steve. And I know you want that too. So… Please. Let me be yours again." 

Steve hadn't moved throughout his whole speech, eyes boring into Bucky's. Without breaking the eye contact, he reached out and gently took the collar from Bucky's trembling fingers. Bucky didn't dare breathe, fearful that Steve would take the collar and leave with it, throw it out with all of Bucky's hopes and dreams. Steve's eyes closed and he took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. And then he wrapped the leather around the back of Bucky's neck again, buckling it shut. He didn't have the lock on it this time, so instead he threaded a finger through the D-ring and pulled Bucky closer, closer still until their foreheads were touching. 

"You can always leave," Steve whispered, eyes still closed and breath warm against Bucky's lips. 

"I know," Bucky told him, his own voice no louder. "I can get by on my own. I know you can too. But the thing is… we don't have to." 

He felt Steve's sob more than he heard it; the tiniest shudder that he might have missed were their faces not pressed together. 

"That's cheating," Steve told him, voice thick. "You've used that line before." 

"Can I still be yours?" Bucky asked softly, the hope he'd tried desperately to quell starting to swamp him and leaving him dizzy. "Please?"

Steve nodded and twisted his fingers in the collar, tightening it just enough that breathing was a little harder. "Mine." 


	13. Chapter 13

**November**

**It's Literally Human Trafficking -** by sanskreature

 _I've been following the case of State of New York Vs Pierce and the rest of the prosecutions against HYDRA with deep interest. There are always groups such as these on TDS and they have equal amounts of adoration and controversy following them. There was The Pack from Austria, and there is still The House of Young in Nevada, USA. The Pack fell apart in recent years when it became apparent that they were, indeed, grooming attractive young women and emotionally manipulating, gaslighting, and at times, even abusing new kinksters. The House of Young still exists, and take criticisms aimed at their way of life with great amusement and tongue-in-cheek humor [on that note,_ _check out their hilarious photo re: drinking the KoolAid_ _]._

 _If you haven't seen the impact of the HYDRA story coming to light on TDS, then you've definitely been living under a rock. It's been highly publicised and a great many names have come forward with their opinions. As if_ any _of our fucking opinions matter._

_This week, Alexander Pierce was found guilty of human trafficking, cult activity, sexual assault, aggravated sexual assault, and rape. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I'll keep you all updated on that as I find out more._

_The motherfucker is going away for a long time. Twenty years, not eligible for parole. I hope the bastard rots there. I'd wish the same acts be bestowed upon him that he gave to others, but that's not the kind of person I am._

_Many articles posted since this came to light have argued that part of kink is engaging with risks. It's brought a lot of bad press to BDSM and not quite in the way that 50SoG did. Some people continue to believe that Pierce wasn't to blame just because some idiots signed up to this little cult. That this is just extreme BDSM and if we're going to criticise this, what else will the thought police punish?_

_ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELVES?_

_Well, you can listen to this. Now that the case has been finalised, further evidence has come to light. HYDRA kept the passports, social security details, and money of all of their "slaves". They were forced to produce pornography for Pierce and HYDRA, under threat of violence. THAT IS LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING._

_In addition, several of Dr. Pierce's former interns have come forward, admitting that he turned the creep up to eleven and advised that if they didn't perform certain sexual favors for him he wouldn't pass certain exams of theirs. Nice. That doesn't actually have anything to do with kink, btw, I just wanted to demonstrate what a creep this guy is._

_Victim Impact Statements have shown severe physical and emotional trauma for those involved with HYDRA. Medical reports show several poorly healed broken bones, and severe PTSD for all the victims. And if you've seen the videos, you'll know the kind of shit these poor people endured. But hey, it's not all bad. Now that he's been found guilty, it appears the victims are suing him for several million dollars in damages. Each. And I Am Not A Lawyer (except, actually, I am) but I'm feeling pretty hopeful for these poor fuckers._

_The fact remains, however, that HYDRA was a cult. It wasn't about "extreme BDSM" like some of you idiots are saying. It was literally the definition of human trafficking, and HYDRA members have been found guilty of it._

_Put that in your pipe and smoke it._

_ETA: Edited for some speeling errors. I swear, I passed the bar exam guys!_

_ETA2: Holy shit folks! Front page! Thank you for all the loves and comments!_

 

*

 

His third therapy session of the week done, Bucky didn't have much left to do with his afternoon. Dinner was pre-cut and just needed to be thrown together once he was sure Steve was on his way home. He felt good. Things were good. After his meeting with Pierce, he'd slept poorly for a few nights but that had faded eventually. Life went on. He was going to see Becca and the twins soon, but that was tomorrow. They were getting so big so quickly, and he wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. Today though, he was at a slight loss of what to do.

He idly wandered the apartment, looking for something to entertain him in the hours before Steve made the journey home. Steve's ropes were conditioned, hanging over the door, the soft scent of beeswax only obvious when he was very close. His hands still hurt just a little from running the ropes endlessly through them, over and over again. It had been nice though, sitting there and singeing them carefully, running a damp cloth over them, and finally coating them in jojoba and a little beeswax. Soothing. Mindfulness, as Bruce might call it. It had taken him the better part of a day.

Having ensured that everything was spotlessly clean, Bucky threw himself back on the couch. Maybe he needed a job. He was starting to remember things about his degree and had been looking over his old notes. His handwriting had been _terrible_! Half the time he couldn't understand the scrawled formulas, but once he could identify what letter or number it was, the formulas made sense. He wasn't sure how he knew it.

Bruce assured him that he was doing a wonderful job of remembering, but that the process was likely to be slow. Sometimes people with his kind of problem remembered slowly, and then all at once. Sometimes they never remembered, and he had to be prepared for that possibility. It was probably okay though because he was learning skills, and was apparently very functional despite everything that had happened. If the memories came back, it was simply a bonus, or so Bruce said.

His future on his mind, he grabbed an old notebook and held it above his head to read. Computer engineering was a favorite of his now; he wondered what it had been before. He had a degree, even a Masters, apparently. His Ma had shown him the certificate that had arrived shortly after he'd left. It was shiny, embossed, in a plastic sleeve and hard folder. He'd taken it home to Steve's and sometimes liked to take it out, just to look at it, stroke it.

Maybe he _did_ need to find a job. He barely had panic attacks anymore. He often explored the city alone after therapy, buying crepes and sitting in parks with books. Sometimes the back of his neck got sunburnt if he sat outside too long with his hair tied back.

He threw the tattered notebook to the ground with a huff. He didn't want to be reading about three-product samples. They were freshman year anyway. He reached behind him and groped for the book on top of the small pile of books that Steve had brought him; they were a mix of Steve's and ones that they'd brought from Bucky's parents. Reading? Was he in the mood for reading? With a grunt of victory, he finally managed to grasp the book and bring it around to him.

Achilles. He could do that. He read the blurb idly, wondering what this song was about. The book was a little worn and clearly well-loved. Maybe it was Steve's favorite book. Steve had given him a number of books, some that the old Bucky had loved, some that Steve had, some just because he'd picked them up at a garage sale with children wanting to fundraise for something or rather. Steve was a sucker for helping; always running over to help little old ladies and world-worn, heavily pregnant mothers cross the road, carrying their groceries if necessary, and sometimes even taking them the long way home just so they didn't have to carry the heavy loads up too many flights of stairs. Steve really was a sucker. But a sucker that Bucky had somehow, inadvertently, fallen for. But Bucky didn't like to think about that; Steve wouldn't take advantage of Bucky like that, and even if Bucky was 100% in his right mind (and he wasn't, admittedly), Steve would probably still have some annoying moral dilemma about the whole thing. Bucky could practically hear the speech now.

With a sigh, he opened to the first page.

_My father was a king and the son of kings. He was a short man, as most of us were, and built like a bull, all shoulders._

Something inside him stung—familiarity. It felt like something scratching up the back of his neck; a cool feeling, not quite pleasant but not enough to send him running from the book. He knew this book. This wasn't one of Steve's books, but one of his. Not unusual, though. He'd picked up a number of them at his parents house. But… There was something…

Page after page fell away under his desperate, anxious eyes. He was searching for… something, but he couldn't quite figure out what that something was. Instead, he just kept reading, reading, reading, until he reached a point in the book that seemed to have been read over and over by the past him. The pages were a little more smudged and the spine was cracked heavily. It was apparently a page he'd loved. Clearly a few pages, really, if the way his heart raced as he read meant anything.

_I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me. If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth._

He felt winded, like getting the air into his lungs was harder than usual. It wasn't a panic attack though. Bucky knew panic attacks now and knew how to handle them. But this was not that. It was more a slow movement beneath him, like the foundation had shifted just slightly and he didn't know how to get it back.

The book in his hands dropped to his lap, followed by his weakening arms. The world felt like it was dropping out from under him, like the feeling of a rollercoaster cresting the peak, negative g-force and adrenaline. He felt like he was floating, dropping, falling. The air felt thin, his head trapped in a vice, and he slowly looked around the room with new eyes.

Bucky remembered.

Bucky remembered _everything._

 

*

 

The journey home had always felt frustratingly long, even before Steve had had someone to come home to. A normal job meant finishing in the peak hours and that meant that sometimes the subways were so full he couldn't even cram himself in like a sardine. New York City didn't have peak hour; it had peak _hours_ , so it didn't even matter if he stayed back at work, or left a little earlier; he was always in the goddamn middle of that time. Now that he had someone, now that he had _Bucky,_ waiting at home for him, that journey felt impossibly long. Sometimes he wished he could just run from Manhattan to Brooklyn. It had to be faster than the stupid subway and its stupid stops.

Instead he stood there, pressed against about eight different people, resisting the urge to bounce his leg. He couldn't wait to be home; not for any particular reason. It had just been a long day, followed by a surprisingly pleasant therapy session. After everything that had happened, Steve had finally found the very dusty card of the therapist Bruce had recommended, and started getting his own care. Some weeks he left the office drained, and a little bruised inside; some weeks, like this one, he left feeling invigorated.

Bucky had been better and better, particularly after seeing Alexander Pierce, and better still since they'd rearranged their dynamic. The news of Pierce's life sentence a week after had certainly helped.

Recovery wasn't linear, which was something Steve had to remind himself of over and over again. But he was better, better than Steve could have ever hoped for. His heart swelled with pride and adoration. He wasn't the same old Bucky, but that meant little to Steve anymore. Whoever this Bucky was now was beautiful and kind, and when he smiled Steve's chest felt like it might burst. He smiled more often now, laughed at times. He rushed to obey Steve, not out of fear, but what Steve didn't dare hope was love. Their dynamic had grown and changed in the last few months to one that Steve would never have dreamed of, if only because he hadn't thought himself capable of such a thing. But everyday Bucky showed him what it was to truly engage in a power exchange, challenged him in ways he loved to be challenged, and gave back better in return every time.

Steve had resisted the idea of being a Dominant for so long. He had been proud to simply be a Top, and a great one at that. But maybe it hadn't been that he wasn't a Dominant; maybe he just hadn't found the right person to submit. Maybe it hadn't been like those things he'd heard at the workshops, but more fluid. Steve resisted the idea of boxes strongly, but nobody said he had to fit one. All that mattered was that whatever was happening with him and Bucky worked, and over time evolved and changed and grew and shrank with them.

Finally, the subway reached his stop, the carriage somewhat emptier than before. He rushed out, forcing himself not to run the remaining distance home. He couldn't wait to see Bucky, couldn't wait to smooth his hair from his forehead, cradle his cheek and see him happily lay out Steve's meal before taking his own. The thoughts made Steve’s stomach twist and turn pleasantly, and he hastened his already quick walk home, pondering the evening plans. They usually played on Saturdays but sometimes, when the mood struck, they'd do it more frequently. Tonight there would be no rope, given Bucky had just conditioned his ropes and he didn't like to use them so quickly after. They always felt a bit sticky in his hands. There were a few other things he had in mind though, if Bucky was up for it. Bucky was _always_ up for things though.

Sometimes he still feared that Bucky was up for anything, obeyed at all times, because he felt like he owed Steve something. Steve knew rationally he was being an idiot. Bucky owed Steve nothing, and Steve told him that regularly. Bucky just rolled his eyes these days, and did whatever he was asked with enthusiasm. If he was feeling particularly snarky, he'd sass Steve while doing it, asking 'if I felt like I owed you, would I be telling you you're an idiot?'. He didn't try to reason with Steve anymore, claiming it a lost cause, and had Steve always been like that? Steve smiled to himself; Bucky didn't even know the half of it.

When he finally made it up the stairs of the brownstone and into the apartment he was expecting to find Bucky kneeling in his usual position by the door. But he wasn't. Steve stopped short, panic seizing him instantly, eyes darting around to find Bucky. Thankfully, he found him quickly, sitting on the couch, tears streaming down his face. (He'd always hated how Bucky could cry without going super red and puffy, like Steve did.)

He closed the door hurriedly behind him, terrified. Had something happened? Was Bucky okay? Even on his worst days (that one week back in July notwithstanding) he'd knelt by the door for Steve, even if he'd been sobbing brokenly as he did. That he wasn't even doing that twisted Steve's stomach. _Fuck!_ This was bad. What the fuck had happened?

Bucky looked up at him, blinking. Steve saw another flood of tears rush down his cheeks with the blinks and he took a step forward, confused and unsure. What if Bucky had been having an episode? Was it safe to move forward? Maybe he was injured or something. He didn't dare rush over, much as he'd like to. He surveyed the scene and tried to keep his breathing steady. He didn't want to spook Bucky and needed to project outward calm no matter what.

A book sat in Bucky’s lap, and Steve exhaled a little in relief. _The Song of Achilles_ ; that was probably why Bucky was crying. To call the book heart-wrenching was an understatement, and it had been Bucky's favorite since his second year of college. It hadn't been his favorite growing up. No, that had been _Lord of the Rings_ , the books read so many times that many pages had fallen out and had to be taped back in. Thirteen year old Bucky had tried to learn elvish, his messy scrawl filling the margins of Steve's notebooks in flourishes and symbols. But then _Achilles_ had come along and Bucky had declared it his favorite book. Despite him only owning the copy for three years, it had been in a similar state to his fifteen year old LOTR books, and he'd shoved it at Steve, insisting that he read it.

Steve had read it and it had been enjoyable, but didn't seem to have had the same effect on him that it had Bucky. He could see why it was Bucky's favorite, but Steve had always been more interested in graphic novels, spending hours examining and admiring the art styles and the way they wove story into pictures. He hadn't even _finished_ LOTR.

Hopefully Bucky was just upset at the book. Steve let his shoulders drop and gave Bucky a small smile. Bucky stared back, his mouth open slightly as he breathed. His blue eyes bore intensely into Steve's. The air crackled with electricity. Something between them had changed, but Steve couldn't put his finger on what.

Then Bucky was on his feet, the book clattering to the ground. Bucky didn't even look at it, his eyes still trained on Steve. Steve felt trapped, unable to move as Bucky came towards him.

And then, Bucky's mouth was on his, messy and wet, almost missing at first. His hands went to Steve's face, fingers cool against the warmth of his cheeks. Steve didn't think, couldn't stop himself, just kissed back. His own hands went to Bucky's hair and pulled him in closer, kissing him as if this was the last thing he would ever get to do. He felt like he was trying to pour a lifetime worth of feelings into that one moment.

But reality came crashing back all too quickly. He managed to force himself away, confused.

"Bucky?" Steve gasped, their face bare inches apart. He wanted to go back to that mouth, to make the already pink lips swollen and red. But… What was happening? _What the fuck was happening?_

"I remember…" Bucky breathed. His eyes were still wet, damp eyelashes clinging together.

Steve drew back further, a sharp pain lancing through his chest. No, no, it… He couldn't. He tried to quell the hope that surged through him. It blasted at his insides, leaving him raw. This couldn't be real. Steve realized he was shaking his head, his eyes stinging with tears. But Bucky had a smile on his face and his eyes creased with joy even if the smile was cracking his entire face.

"I remember," he repeated, exhaling shakily.

"No…" Steve protested softly, shaking his head. He couldn't believe it, couldn't _let_ himself believe it. Because if he did, then something in him might break that could never be repaired again.

But Bucky kept nodding, smiling around the lower lip he was biting. "It's real. It is, Stevie. I remember. I remember all of it."

"No… No, you… You can't. That… That isn't…" His voice cracked. He felt not just the weight of the last year, nor the four years of his absence, but a lifetime of hurt and need pressing against him. Steve had never run away from a fight in his life, despite Bucky's endless urges. He'd never let himself surrender, always insisting that he could do this all day. But the years seemed to be catching up with him now and threatened to break him.

"Your mom's name was Sarah…" Bucky said, voice shaky. "You used to put newspapers in your shoes. You were such a runt, and then had that growth spurt just before college. You were taller than me for the first time in our lives and I was so pissed off. We met in Brooklyn Heights when I found you picking a fight with some older kids who were hurting a puppy."

Steve shook his head still, his eyes no longer stinging but getting dangerously wet. He tried not to blink lest they overflow and the internal battle be lost.

But Bucky continued, eyes still on Steve's, not looking away for even a second. "You used to draw all the time. You were allergic to _everything._ You wouldn't ever run away from a fucking fight. It was like you didn't know how."

Steve had to blink. His eyes could only take so much. A few tears slipped out. The hope was beginning to become unbearable. But… No. Bucky's swiped some of the tears that spilled down Steve’s face gently with his thumbs.

Bucky was relentless. "When your Ma died, you wanted to go it alone. Insisted you'd get by on your own. You remember what I said to you then?"

Steve laughed wetly, his voice thick. "You said 'I'm with you 'till the end of the line'…" Bucky nodded and smiled wider.

"And then while we were drunk in college and you and Pegs had broken up, we got it tattooed. Can't believe that that happened. What kind of tattoo artist lets you get a tattoo while drunk… Plus in script? Jesus fucking christ… Super fucking girly, if you ask me."

That was what did it for Steve and pushed him over the edge into an abyss he was never going to escape. That was _exactly_ what Bucky had said the next morning when they'd woken up to sore sides and even sorer heads. He let out a small sob, unable to stop the sound escaping his mouth. More tears fell, but Bucky wiped them away again.

Seeming to realize he'd won the battle, that he'd convinced Steve, Bucky moved back in to kiss him again. Steve stopped him at the last moment, because he was an idiot like that.

"But you don't like me like-,"

Bucky rolled his eyes, sinking back on his feels and withdrawing a few inches. "Christ almighty, you're just as dense now as you were then. I've been in love with you since I was about twelve years old, you punk."

The ground was going to disappear from under him, Steve was sure. "Jerk," he breathed, the word falling out without him even thinking of it. "But-,"

"No, Stevie, stop. I might have gone away for a while, but I promise you… This is real. This isn't some stupid thing where I feel like I owe you for helping me this last year. I loved you long before, and I love you still. I loved you without my memories, and I love you with 'em. And I bet you good money that you love me too." He stopped for a moment, searching Steve's face for an answer. Steve nodded confirmation, unable to find the words. "So please, stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot for once in your goddamn life, and let me fucking kiss you like I've wanted to all these years."

Another sob escaped against his will, but he nodded again. Bucky moved back in slowly, giving Steve time to pull back. But he didn't, and soon Bucky's mouth was on his again, soft, a featherlight touch. He tasted of salty tears, and the answer to all his prayers. After hesitating for a moment, just brushing their lips together, he moved in more quickly, firmly.

It was everything that Steve had ever dreamed of, and more. He'd seen the way Bucky kissed, girls and boys alike, the way he'd moved so confidently. It had been fuel for his early teenage masturbation fantasies, imagining being kissed by Bucky like that. This was better than anything his teenage mind could have conjured. This was everything.

He kissed back and brought his hands around Bucky, pulling him in as close as clothing would allow. He became distantly aware of his work satchel still crossing his chest, but he didn't dare break away from the heated kiss to remove it. Instead, he just kissed Bucky for all it was worth.

It seemed Bucky cared about the satchel and the clothes enough that he broke away to drag the satchel off. He shoved Steve’s coat over his shoulders and unbuttoned his sweater with surprising deftness given the problems in his left hand. Bucky only broke the kiss long enough to place the satchel on its hook, not letting it drop; Steve was grateful for that given his MacBook was inside. And then he was back on Steve, all tongue and teeth and heat.

Steve's brain _finally_ started to work again, emotion seeping out of his pores and desire filling every fiber of his being. He grabbed at Bucky's shirt with both hands and spun them both around, slamming Bucky against the front door with enough force that he gasped. For a moment, Steve worried that he'd been too rough. But then Bucky gave him a look that only read _Want_ and yanked him back into another heated kiss.

"I've…" Bucky said between kisses, words a little jumbled against his lips, "been wanting you to do that for as long as I can remember."

Steve wanted to laugh with delirious happiness because Bucky _did_ remember!

"Same," Steve admitted, slowing the kisses down just slightly.

"Then why the fuck didn't you? Like, I've been gagging for it for months, years! Seriously, that was hot," Bucky told him.

He was going to ask about that later - months?

"Seriously," Steve said back, annoyed that he was choosing to talk when there could be even more kissing happening, "do you ever shut up?"

"Not if I can help it," Bucky, ever the smartass, shot back. "But seriously. You have permission to do that whenever you want."

When Steve pressed a thigh between Bucky's, using his whole body as a weight against him, Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut and he was temporarily quiet. Bright eyes, no longer teary but still wet from before, opened and met Steve’s. And then he smiled and Steve was lost, always had been. He'd never stood a chance with anyone else, not as long as Bucky Barnes was there.

He kissed Bucky again, determined to never stop, not as long as he had a say in it. Bucky seemed to have no reservations about that decision and clung to him, pushing against the wall to press their bodies as close together as possible. The way he ground against Steve's thigh was driving him nuts. It was so distracting that Steve finally broke away from Bucky's mouth but only so that he could bury his fingers in his hair and tilt his head to the side to attack Bucky’s neck with his mouth. He felt Bucky's moans under his lips, and despite him having done this bit before almost every time they played, it took on a whole new meaning now. He wanted to _wreck_ Bucky, and by god, it looked like he was going to be able to.

"Bedroom?" Bucky gasped out. "Please? I've wanted you to kiss me my whole damn life and I've waited long enough for that. Don't make me wait any longer for you to fuck me."

Steve nodded and released his hold on Bucky, much as he hated to do so. The appeal of taking this to the bedroom though was too tempting. Getting to the bedroom, however, proved harder than either of them expected. In between Steve struggling out of his work shoes and socks, and stopping every few feet to make out against various surfaces, the journey seemed endless. But they finally made it, Bucky down to his boxer briefs and Steve's belt unbuckled.

Steve pulled Bucky down on top of him as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, slowing the overwhelming kisses again. He was light-headed, caught up, and completely smitten. Bucky's lips, it turned out, did look wonderful when red and swollen. He thumbed at them and tugged them from between Bucky's teeth, entranced.

They paused briefly as Bucky's eyes wandered over his chest with wonder. Steve sometimes forgot that Bucky didn't see him shirtless often, or really ever. After his growth spurt Steve had remained insecure in his body; he'd had more of a 'fuck you, world' attitude when he was 5'4" and barely scraping in at 100lbs than he did at 6'2". Going shirtless wasn't a thing he'd done, even though he now frequently wore shirts that Bucky regularly pointed out were too small for him. But Bucky? He'd seen Bucky naked countless times, and he felt like he knew every inch of Bucky's body. And yet Bucky hadn't seen his. That was a damn shame.

"This was absolutely not what I expected you to look like naked. Well, half-naked." Bucky admitted, biting his lip as he ran a thumb down the middle of Steve's pecs. His eyes widened and he lifted one of Steve's arms before grinning. "You… You have the tattoo. I. How could I forget?" He ran his fingers over it gently, smoothing at the smudged words. The tattoo parlour had _not_ been reputable, that was for sure. Bucky grinned at it before studying him more. His fingers moved from his tattoo to the small scar on his chest, where he'd had heart surgery a few years earlier.

Steve had been a sick kid, spending way more time in hospital than a kid should have to. But even then Bucky had stood by him, bringing coloring pencils and sketchpads and comic books to each hospital visit. Steve hadn't had to visit a hospital for himself in years, a fact for which everyone was grateful, but he still carried those memories with him. There had been that one winter, nearly fifteen years ago now, where he'd caught pneumonia and his Mom had called in a priest to do the last rites. Bucky hadn't let go of him for about a week after he'd recovered and had nagged him almost constantly in winter to put something warmer on, despite Steve being sufficiently dressed for an arctic expedition.

How? How had they both missed the fact that they were completely and utterly in love with each other for so many years? Retrospectively, it seemed like batshit insanity. But the important part was they were there now, physically and emotionally. God, was he there now.

He pulled Bucky down into another heated kiss and thumbed at the edges of his underwear as he did. Bucky ground against his front, shifting so that he could feel Steve's erection as he pressed his own against Steve's stomach.   

"Fuck me," Bucky ordered, rolling his hips over Steve's, moving so sinfully that Steve wasn't sure it was fair. "I've been wanting this since I was fourteen and discovered what my dick was capable of. Stop holding out on me."

"You discovered jerking off at twelve, don't lie to me," Steve murmured, slowly biting Bucky’s lower lip and making him moan.

"Whatever, just. Please?"

"Mmhmm," Steve hummed, drawing away to look at the beautiful man above him. The intensity of the moment eased temporarily and he was overwhelmed with the depth of his own feelings; the way he felt so completely grounded while at the same time as his heart wanted to take flight.

Bucky's eyes widened suddenly and he asked: "You're… you're still going to choke me, right?"

"Uh?" Steve asked, not quite sure what Bucky was going for. What…? No, no, _what?_

"Like. I've got my memories back. And. Is… is this gonna change things between us? You weren't willing to fuck me three days ago when I didn't have 'em, but I was still begging."

He was right. Why did Bucky having his memories back change things? He wasn't sure that they did, if he really asked himself. But maybe if Bucky had kissed him that way at the door, memories or otherwise, Steve might have found himself in the exact same situation he was now. Maybe it wasn't the memories at all, but the conviction with which Bucky had told him how much he wanted this, how it was nothing to do with owing Steve and everything to do with the feelings they shared for each other. Old Steve and old Bucky, Owner and slave, new Steve and new Bucky. They had still found a way to each other, had still fallen in love, over and over again, and would keep doing so regardless of the circumstances.

"Do you want things to change, or not?" Steve teased, brushing hair that had fallen over Bucky's face behind his ear and smoothing down the strands that tried to escape.

"Yes? No? Both? Is both an option?"

Steve chuckled. "Things can look however you want them to."

Bucky nodded sharply. "Good. In. In that case, I want you to still choke me when I come… And this time, I want you to be the one that makes me," Bucky breathed, all heat as he kissed him again.

Steve wasn't going to argue.

It was horrible to pull away long enough to get Bucky's underwear off. Steve's business pants were already off and across the room. Despite Bucky being the one who'd thrown them that way, Steve knew he was going to be bitched at when it came time for Bucky to iron them again. That was a sacrifice Steve was willing to make.

Then Bucky was on top of him again, grinding down harder still and making stars appear in front of Steve’s eyes and words fail him over and over. Steve's hands found the lube in the nightstand, put away by Bucky at some point during the last few days. His fingers slipped inside Bucky easily, which came as little surprise to him.

"Don't go gentle on me, Steve," Bucky whispered, his nose pressed to Steve’s temple. "You know I can take it."

And Steve did know, had had four fingers to the knuckle inside Bucky just a few days ago as he begged and pleaded with Steve for _moremoremore_ through chokes and sobs. As much as he was enjoying Bucky on top of him though, he wanted to watch him writhe against the mattress. He removed his fingers, earning a small whine from Bucky and then a laugh as he lifted him by the armpits and threw him across the bed.

When he finally pressed inside Bucky, more gentle than Bucky's goading requests, he had to pause just to breathe and solidify the moment in his memory. Despite Bucky's requests, he seemed equally as affected, breathing hard as he clutched Steve's biceps. Steve was unable to look away. He was bewitched and feeling more romantic things than any of the three romance novels he'd read in his life described love as. This was all-consuming, life-changing, mind-melting. It certainly didn't feel real, so he kissed Bucky again to convince himself that maybe it was.

"Okay, you can do all the lovey dovey stuff later," Bucky said when he pulled away. "Like, really, I'm down for it, you have no idea. But," he advised, squeezing around Steve as his wicked grin returned, "I'm going to die if you don't fuck me senseless right now."

"And everyone thinks _I'm_ the dramatic one," Steve teased but taking that feedback on board. Part of him wanted to drag the moment out, but another part of him simply feared how long he would last. He and Bucky were engaged sexually, but the nature of that relationship was very one-sided, as Steve had felt safest. His fingers had been inside Bucky countless times by this point as Bucky had jerked himself off, but no other part of him had. Shit, it had been well over a year since Steve had done more than jerk himself off surreptitiously after fucking Bucky up.

Still, he didn't go easy on Bucky after that. He knew what Bucky could take, and it was probably more than Steve could dish out right then. He was rough, all biting and brutal, and even still Bucky just begged for more, wrapping his limbs around Steve as he fucked him as hard as he could. Red marks appeared on Bucky's shoulders as Steve dragged his teeth there and there were  scratches on his own back from Bucky's blunt nails. And he certainly was happy to deliver on the choking request, enjoying the way Bucky tightened around him as he struggled for air.

"Please, can I come?" Bucky whispered, voice hoarse as he tried to speak around Steve's hand on his throat. His desperate eyes met Steve's, one hand twisting the bedcovers, the other between them furiously stroking his own cock.

"Not this again," Steve huffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Please, Stevie," Bucky pleaded, face redder as Steve's hand tightened, breaking the eye contact as they rolled back in his head temporarily. "I know you like it…"

Bucky had him there. Fuck, Steve was close too. Bucky could come without permission now… It was fine, right? Steve fucked him harder, drawing the last vestiges of his strength, and bit down on Bucky's stubbled jaw just above where his own hand sat.

"Go on then, come for me," he breathed, holding onto what remained of his control for just a few seconds more until he heard Bucky's strangled sob and felt him clenching around him, come slicking the space between their bellies. The world went white for him and when he was done, every muscle in his body felt wrecked and weak. He managed not to collapse face first into Bucky's neck, but only barely, easing himself off and _then_ letting himself drop half over Bucky’s body.

Bucky was trembling, practically shuddering under him, and Steve curled an arm around him, trying to get closer still, as if they hadn't just been as close as two humans could. He managed to drag himself up to share the pillow, nuzzling Bucky’s cheek, stubble scratching his nose.

"I love you," Steve said softly, unable to look Bucky in the eye as he said it for the first time. "Have for a really long time."

"I know," Bucky whispered back. "Me too." He turned his head, brushing his nose against Steve's, and he returned Steve's wide grin

All was right in the world.

 

*

 

"Months?" Steve asked, finally gathering enough of his thoughts to be able to think. He'd lain there with Bucky for what felt like an age, kissing lazily and then breaking away to just rest his eyes in between. It was dark outside already and they really needed to organize dinner but leaving the bed just then felt like the worst idea in the world.

"Uh? Months… what? I'm gonna need a little more to go on there." Bucky said sleepily, not bothering to drag his eyes open.

Despite what it felt like, Bucky didn't share neural pathways with him, nor could he read his mind. Disappointing.

"Back when I slammed you against the door," Steve said, hoping that clarified things.

"Okay, firstly, really? _That's_ the first thing you have questions about? And secondly, what… don't you get about that?" Bucky asked and raised an eyebrow, his eyes now open.

"The months bit?" He didn't dare say what he was thinking.

"I've… wanted you to do that for months, memory return or not."

"Oh." That. That was. Oh.

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes. "Even when I'm literally begging to suck your cock, you still can't seem to wrap your head around the fact that I might have wanted you? Yes, Steven, memories back or not, I loved you. What do you think the last ten months were? That I was just doing all of that because I was dependent on you? I thought we'd established that I was doing it because I _wanted_ to. So, every time I begged you to fuck me, that was because I wanted it. If you'd come home and told me to bend and spread, I'd have done it, and not because I was grateful you let me drink hot chocolate. It was because I _wanted_ that. Geeze. A guy can beg naked in front of you and you'll still think he's only doing it because he owes you a favor." He shook his head in disbelief, but his exasperated tone was fond.

Steve didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Bucky seemed happy to leave it at that and peeled himself out of bed. "I'm going to go finish dinner," Bucky said, kissing Steve once, twice, three times, before he finally managed to drag himself away. Steve watched, slightly disappointed when Bucky pulled his underwear back on. He heard him stop in the hallway to grab his shirt too.

By the time he entered the kitchen himself, having showered for some time, Bucky was nearly done, tasting the curry he'd made. It smelled incredible. Bucky looked amazing, moving around the kitchen, hair loose and sex-mussed and brushing his shoulders. His ass looked… Yeah. Wow. Steve would never get over that either. He shot Steve a grin when he saw him leaning in the doorway, all teeth and eye crinkles.

And Steve felt a little lost. He didn't know how to act now, wasn't sure how much had changed. To Steve, it felt like his entire world had shifted several degrees and he wasn't sure where to begin with reorienting himself.

"Smells good," Steve said finally, no better words coming to him. He felt like he had a hundred questions but didn't know what to ask. Could he touch now? Had he always been allowed to touch but had stopped himself for fear that it was wrong? Jesus. He needed a nap and a stiff drink.

…He was going to get a stiff drink.

Before he could get one, he heard his phone start vibrating from his suit pants in the bedroom. It was just a work email, something he could deal with tomorrow but by the time he'd gone to fetch it Bucky had placed his meal in its usual spot, and his… on the ground beside Steve. He was kneeling beside it, as per usual, beaming up at Steve.

Steve pulled up short.

"What… Whatcha doing, Buck?" Steve's voice was a little more unsure than he would have liked but he rolled with it.

Bucky cocked his head. "What… do you mean?"

"Why are you…" Steve gestured at how he knelt on the floor, "still doing that?"

Bucky huffed a laugh and shook his head in disbelief. "Still don't get it, huh? I haven't been lying to you this whole time, Steve. I really love this. I wasn't doing this these last few months for any other reason than I love this power exchange with you. I liked power exchange before I left; I _love_ power exchange with you. I… I'm still the same person I was when you woke up this morning. I just have a couple'a things I'd forgotten about. It's like, the old Bucky and the new Bucky, combined. Twice the fun, really."

"Twice the sass, it seems…" Steve grumbled, sitting down. His stomach was twisting weirdly but it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. He'd been… Well, honestly, he'd been very happy with things for the last few months. He'd loved waking up to Bucky each morning, tying him to the bed each night, making sure he ate right and went to his therapy sessions. He'd grown to love Bucky kneeling at his feet, even eating his meals there. He'd loved playing with him every chance he had, loved the way he could hurt Bucky and bring him such joy at the same time. Truth be told, if things had continued exactly as they had the last few months, Steve would have been happy.

He realized he'd been quiet for a while and hadn't advised Bucky he could eat. Bucky's expression had morphed to one of nervousness. "Do… Do you like things as they are, Steve?"

Steve shifted in his seat and brought his body around so he was facing Bucky. He patted his lap, indicating that Bucky should move closer, which he did. His fingers found Bucky's hair, going instantly to ease the knots he'd made earlier.

"Yeah, bud, I do. I'm real happy with things. You getting your memories back is really just a bonus," Steve said, stomach finally untwisting.

Bucky grinned and visibly relaxed. "Does that mean I'm allowed to blow you in the mornings?"

"It'll be a rare day I ever decline that offer. Now, eat. You've gotta have worked up an appetite." He kissed Bucky's forehead and then eased him back.

Any plans for Steve's evening were overtaken by their desires to not take their hands off each other. That was okay though. Steve was a man of many talents and knew how to improvise. His plan had been to make Bucky a sobbing mess on the ishidaki mat again simply became making Bucky a sobbing mess on the ishidaki _while_ Steve fucked his face. What made it all the better though was being able to kiss his senses back after.

Bedtime came, and it still surprised him to see Bucky kneel beside the bed, waiting for Steve to tie him to it and then give him permission to climb into it. Steve enjoyed Bucky's winces as he moved onto his abused shins, and didn't bother hiding his smirk.

Bucky quirked his eyebrow at him for what had to be the fiftieth time that evening. (Was that a punishable offense? Steve would have to ponder that one later.) "Enjoying that, Steve?" he snarked, still using Steve's name as an honorific.

"Yeah, I think I am." He leaned down to thread the rope through Bucky's collar, barely thinking about it. "Should do it to you again some time. Okay, you may get in bed." He stood back, watching Bucky clamber in and twist himself in the blankets. Steve stripped down to his underwear and slid in beside him, still unsure how much he was allowed touch. Bucky answered the question for him by snuggling in.

"G'night, Owner," Bucky whispered impishly.

Steve tugged at Bucky’s hair just the once before he pressed a kiss to his forehead, nose, mouth. Bucky whined against his mouth, trying to press his body closer to Steve's again.  

"Go to sleep," Steve groused. "Is this what it's going to be? Every time I kiss you we end up fucking?"

"That's the hope, Steve," Bucky chuckled, withdrawing.

Steve supposed he could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D :D
> 
> Also, yes, Steve has finally started going to therapy. And they're slowly learning how to communicate. Slowly. Learning that shit is HARD.
> 
> And tomorrow, EPILOGUE!! And amazing art by ClaraxBarton :D :D :D :D :D :D


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAYYYYY. Please note for those of you brave enough to read this at work?? There are images at the end of this ;)

Getting back into the routine of working a full-time job was weird. Bucky hadn't really been full-time, even before he'd disappeared. But Steve had been good about helping him set up routines, and those routines set the foundations for him finally being able to work. TheBook was actually a pretty great employer, as far as employers went. Things had been going well so far, and sometimes he was allowed to work from home. The office was a good place to be though, because he got to be around people. It wasn't too overwhelming and Bruce told him that being out and about was good for him. Some days Bucky wasn't sure he would be able to make it out of bed, but on those days he tugged his laptop over and worked from a cocoon of blankets.

He didn't always have to work weekends but sometimes his clients were _absolutely useless_ and sometimes it was fucking _TheBook_ that was absolutely fucking useless. Seriously, some days he wanted to hack into their data centers and just recode the whole thing because had whoever built this been _fucking high_ at the time? How? How was this damn code built by one of the biggest tech companies in the fucking world? They had some of the best computer engineers in the world and they built _this?!_ Jesus fucking Christ…

He exhaled, breathing out the rage, two three four. Rage was good, he reminded himself. It meant he was feeling. It meant he was feeling things without fear. The rage had been a new feeling for him. It still wasn't much, but it sometimes flared up along with frustration and irritation. For example, at this stupid dumbass who had called him at 3am about their stupid website.

So Bucky had been working since 3am on a Saturday, trying to fix more things than he really wanted to. He'd moved out to the living room, draped his favorite blanket over his head, and his fingers had been dancing over the keyboard since. Steve had since woken, laughed at the sight he apparently made, cooked them breakfast, and taken a shower. Bucky was wrecked. His wrists hurt, his left one in particular. He knew he needed surgery for that, eventually, but that time wasn't now. It wasn't interfering with his quality of life too badly, just when he lacked sleep and then worked solidly on his laptop for seven hours aside from a bathroom break or two. He twisted his wrists a little, the bones cracking slightly as he did.

Steve walked back into the living room, sweatpants low on his hips and dragging across the floor boards. He had two large mugs in hand, and carefully set them on the coffee table in front of Bucky before climbing onto the couch behind him, both legs going on either side of his shoulders. Bucky could smell chocolate coming from the mug that had to be his and grinned; he didn't always get chocolate when he wanted, so he must have done something good to deserve that. Or maybe Steve just felt sorry for him having to wake up at 3am.

"You're going to save me from having to vacuum," Bucky murmured, his gaze going back to his laptop. He blinked a few times, trying to bring moisture back to his tired, dry eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Your hems are gonna do all the cleaning for me. Pull up your fucking pants, you'll ruin them." He went to lean forward to grab his mocha, but was stopped short by Steve's hand in his hair, rougher than he usually was. "Fucking… Oww!" He whined, trying and failing to twist his head to glare at Steve.

"Where did you learn to talk like that? Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap to teach you better?" Steve asked mildly, corner of one lip quirking. He dragged Bucky's head back slowly, making him crane his neck as he pulled it into his lap. The blanket fell off his head and he attempted to glare at Steve.

"Oh don't tease, you know I'd love that," Bucky managed to get out, biting his lip.

Steve snorted and pressed his lips together as he visibly withheld a laugh. "I know. You're a fucking pervert, you know that?" Bucky went to scoff at him for swearing, but Steve's hand released its hold in his hair and moved down to his leather collar. Bucky's head moved back from the odd angle, but certainly didn't go far. Soon the familiar sensation of blood rushing to his head made him kick out, sucking weak little gasps in. Steve became blurry before his eyes, his expression focused and watching Bucky intently. When he felt sure that he was going to explode from the choke, Steve finally released him and Bucky sank against his lap, gasping.

He felt all warm and soft, shifting slightly so he could cuddle against Steve's lap. Steve's hands returned to his hair, this time running through the strands gently.

"You know," Steve said conversationally after a minute or two (maybe a lifetime, ask Bucky later). "I think your collar is getting a bit old. Which, disappointing, because it’s leather. I thought that was supposed to last."

Bucky rolled his head around to blink up at Steve, at the same time bringing a hand up to clutch at it protectively. His collar wasn't in _that_ bad a condition. He didn't even get to wear it all the time! He managed to wear it loosely under his work business shirts, and suit jackets, but once the weather got warmer it would be more obvious that he wore it. The thought made him sad, but he understood. Not everyone in the world was as welcoming towards these kinds of things.

"So I thought maybe it was time to get you a new collar," Steve continued. "One that you don't have to take off every time you shower, and can wear under your work shirts without worrying about how it sits." He leaned to one side and pulled a small velvet bag from his pocket. He fingered the bag, looking nervous suddenly.

"It doesn't lock, because it's not to lock you in or keep you here. Same as how I tie you to the bed every night. I don't lock it, _won't_ ever lock it, because it means you're choosing to stay through free will alone. That you wear it means that you are here through love, and a desire to be mine." Despite his strong words, he passed the bag over awkwardly. Bucky took the heavy pouch with fingers he only now realized were trembling. "You are always free to leave. You might be mine, but I'm yours too. Every day you wear it is a commitment to me, but also a commitment from me to you. I cannot promise that I will never hurt you, but I promise to never harm you, and to always take care of you to the best of my ability."

Fingers shaking, Bucky loosened the pouch and poured the heavy chain into his hand. Silver metal, bright and polished and smooth as silk sat in his hand. It was long enough that it could comfortably sit under his clothing, heavy enough that he'd always be aware of it. It looked like a necklace and wouldn't raise any eyebrows if it was visible, but the meaning behind it, the meaning behind Steve's words, would always resonate with him. It was beautiful; something Steve had clearly spent a lot of time finding, perhaps had even had a hand in designing. It had a little round charm in the centre of it, a star in concentric circles; it was something Steve used to draw for one of his comic book characters. He’d drawn it all over his books in high school and college. Bucky's eyes were burning, and his chest felt tight. He didn't know how to respond, overwhelmed.

"You don't have to say 'yes' now. You don't have to say 'yes' ever. We can keep going exactly as we are. You can say 'no' and I'll never bring it up again. But this is something I'm offering to you now, for as long as you want it."

Bucky wanted to say something, _anything_ at all, but words failed him. So he said it how he knew best, with actions. He turned around fully and threw himself at Steve's stomach, wrapping his arms around his waist. Steve released a little 'oof' from the force of Bucky's hug.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Steve laughed, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and squeezing the muscle in the left one unconsciously, as he often did to soothe the ache there.

Bucky gave a little shake of the head, like he couldn't believe Steve even had to ask. "You're still such a punk, you know that right?"

"And you're still so insubordinate. Remind me why I'm asking you to be my sub again?"  

"Probably my otherworldly blowjob skills, Steve." He didn't always use Steve's name as an honorific anymore, but it did slip out occasionally. He hoped it never stopped.

"Ah, that must be it."

Bucky shifted onto his knees a little more comfortably, still not letting go of Steve's waist. "I don't have to give some romantic speech, do I? Because I'm sorry pal, I don't think I have one prepped."

Steve snorted. "No, no you don't have to."

His expression sobered then, not wanting Steve to think he didn't take such an important question seriously. He may have been a facetious little shit more often than not, as Steve often reminded him, but he did take his relationship with Steve seriously.

"I can't always promise to be the most well-behaved submissive in the world. But I can promise I'll always try, and everything I do for you will always be done with love. I can't promise I won't forget you again, but I can promise I'll always fall in love with you anyway. And I promise that no matter what bullshit you have to face, I'll be there by your side, always. With you 'till the end of the line, pal." Bucky's voice caught several times as the words poured out of him, words that just came to him without thinking.

Steve's eyes misted as he spoke. "'No romantic speech planned' my ass," Steve managed eventually, clearing his throat, a single tear finally escaping. He ignored it, and Bucky did too, knowing Steve would hate having attention drawn to it.

"Your ass, truly wonderful. I can show you what I think of it once I've finished this stupid code." And despite the joke, the moment lingered, electric and tense in the best possible way.

"That a 'yes'?" Steve asked again, more serious this time.

Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice just then, and held the collar still grasped in his hand out for Steve. Steve took it. With hands that trembled almost as badly as Bucky's, he unlocked Bucky's leather collar for the last time and placed it beside him.

"It's an 'always', Steve," Bucky whispered as the heavy metal came to rest on his collarbones, warm from his hand. His new collar fastened, Steve stroked the metal, his fingertips brushing Bucky's skin as he went. He felt sure his heart was going to burst, and when Steve cupped his face and pulled him up to kiss him, he figured that was as good a way to go as any.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TADA!!! IT IS DONE!!!
> 
> Thank you again for all that helped and supported me through this. Thank you again to the wonderful [emptydistractions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions) who sat with me extensively as I wrote this, and then emergency beta'd <3\. Go read [her SAUBB](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17800460)!!!! Also huge thanks to my emergency artist [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton). Isn't the art lovely???? :D
> 
> Thank you everyone who has read this, commented, and been generally lovely. You're amazing.
> 
> Also, these images will be added to their respective chapters, but here is art for other chapters :D
> 
> Prologue:  
> 
> 
> Chapter 3:  
> 
> 
> Chapter 10:  
> 


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